


Black Ledger, Red Ink

by Kate_Shepard



Series: One and the Same [4]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Child Death, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Origin Story, Original Character Death(s), Past Drug Use, Prostitution, Renegade Shepard (Mass Effect), Ruthless War Hero, Suicidal Thoughts, Tenth Street Reds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-12-31 20:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12140250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Shepard/pseuds/Kate_Shepard
Summary: Thane Krios returns to Earth five years after meeting the intriguing young human who led the Tenth Street Reds. The woman he finds in her place is a shadow of the girl he left behind. In the time that he was gone, their worlds have turned upside down and they are left to pick up the pieces together. Can Thane give her a purpose? Can Red give him a reason to keep going?A continuation of 'Seeing Red' and 'Red Ledger, Bloody Ink.' It would be helpful to read those first for background but not necessary. This can function as a standalone. This work has mentions of child death. Assume that to be true going forward with Kate's story.





	1. Oh, How Far They Fall

 

Thane stared down at the dead batarian as a flood of memories assailed him. After years of searching, he finally knew where to find Stiv Kay, the man who’d killed his wife. The human ringleader was on Earth in the city of Chicago. Thane hadn’t been to Chicago in almost six years. He’d thought of the human girl less and less as time had passed. He’d gone back to his life, and she had left his conscious mind completely the day he’d come home to find his wife slaughtered and his son wide-eyed and silent with panic and grief. He hadn’t thought of the girl since, but he was remembering her now.

After he’d left, they had remained in stilted contact for a short time. He had secured the weapons deal with the hanar and had sent her regular reports on the omni-tool programs she’d installed. She had passed him a finder’s fee that he did not want for the hanar deal and occasionally pushed updates to his omni-tool when they were needed. They hadn’t truly spoken since that last message he’d sent her on Earth. The last contact he'd had from her had been a video of little Gabe singing to his toys. He wondered for the first time in years how she was doing.

He imagined that she had set herself and the children up in the house he’d found for them and that the money from the hanar deal had allowed her to get the Reds out of the drug trade and into a more lucrative business. She had likely perfected her program by now, though he would have expected to hear about it if she’d begun distributing it. He hoped that she had taken the opportunity he’d given her to find a better life. He would find out soon. He needed information and she could get it for him. Even if she didn’t know Stiv Kay or where to find him, she could find out. He would start his search with her.

He boarded a transport for Earth that night and spent two days aboard it. The ship docked in New York, and he rented a skycar for the short journey to Chicago. The city was far warmer than it had been the last time he was there. As he drove to the little house, he reflected that it would at least be more comfortable this time around. To his dismay, the house appeared abandoned. The curtains were drawn, but the grass was overgrown and the building had not been kept up the way he expected that she would have if she’d stayed there. He knocked on the door to check anyway and turned away when no one answered.

He knew it was a risk to go into Reds' territory without an invitation, but his message to her had come back undeliverable. A search of the city’s death records came up with no one that fit her description over the past five years, so she was probably still alive. She had most likely simply changed her extranet address. He decided to go to the row house despite the risk. He had faced worse odds before. She would not allow the gang to harm him. Unless she’d forgotten him, of course. That was certainly a potential complication, but it was one he would face if it arose.

The row house was gone. Nothing remained of it but the burned-out shell of the basement buried in the black-scarred earth. Thane walked around the scorched property, looking for any sign of her, though the damage was old and he knew there would be nothing. Even the bones, had there been any, would have been picked over and carried away by stray animals. She was gone, and it was unlikely he would ever know why.

He was returning to his car with a heavy heart when a man exited the apartment building across the street. Thane held his hands up to show that he wasn’t a threat and said, “I am looking for Red.”

“The Reds are gone, frog,” the man said.

“Is the girl dead? Their leader?” he asked.

“That crazy bitch?” the man asked. “Don’t think so.”

“If you can tell me where to find her, I will leave and take up no more of your time,” Thane said.

The man’s face contorted into a sneer. “Yeah. Okay. Last I heard, you could find her on the corner of 39th and Grand.”

“Thank you,” he said and turned away.

“Oh, and frog?” the man said. Thane looked back over his shoulder. “Don’t come back. We don’t like your kind around here.”

Thane nodded and returned to his skycar. He input the coordinates and sat back as it rose. What had happened to his Drala’fa in the years since he’d seen her? Where was she and what was she doing? She was alive at least. Wary relief replaced at least a fragment of the heartsickness that was his constant companion.

The skycar landed at a cross-street in a neighborhood almost as rundown as Tenth Street. A liquor store, a second-hand shop, a small independent grocery store, and a dilapidated motel hulked at the corners. Thane decided that the motel was the most likely location for her and set the security on the car before leaving it. Without the VI, there wouldn’t be a car when he returned. It might not be there even with the sophisticated security program. It was a risk he was willing to take to find Drala’fa and see if she could lead him to Stiv Kay.

He saw her before she saw him. She stood in a pool of light with a foot propped against the brick outer wall of the motel with a cigarette in her hand. Her hair was the only thing that made him certain that it was her. She had grown into her body, though her face was still gaunt. She looked harder than she had before. Again, he wondered what had happened to her in the intervening years. She was scantily clad in a dress that reminded him of Aria's dancers on Omega. The spiked shoes she wore would be more appropriate as a weapon than footwear. She carried an air of dissipation like a biotic cloud around her. When she turned to face him, he was certain that it was Drala’fa, but this was not the girl he’d known.

Her face slackened in surprise before brightening considerably as he walked toward her. Her eyes lit, bringing back a ghost of the person that had been there before and giving him hope that she was still in there somewhere. He drew even with her and she exclaimed, “Thane!” and threw down the cigarette.

“Drala’fa,” he greeted her.

It was rare that he could be taken by surprise, but he stood frozen in shock as she threw her arms around him and slammed her lips into his. Before he could fully register this turn of events, his arm was banding around her waist and he was kissing her back. He brought his hand up to brace against the wall and the rough brick bit into the side of his fist. They came together in a clash of teeth and lips and tongues. For a moment, he forgot Irikah, forgot Stiv Kay, forgot why he was here as desires he’d thought dead roared to life. Her hands were running down his spine and her mouth was hot and eager. Her slim body pressed against his, hot against his chest.

“Thane,” she whispered against his lips. “You came back.”

In reply, he brought his hand up to tangle in her dirty hair. She tasted like mint and smoke and some type of liquor that wasn’t entirely pleasant. He didn’t care. There was another person in his arms and she was warm and alive and _here_ and he realized just how _lonely_ he’d been since Irikah had died. Her hands came to rest on his hips and he allowed her to draw him closer to her until their bodies were flush against each other.

She sighed, “Fuck me, Thane.”

The statement was jarring enough to draw him at least partially back to his senses. What was he doing?

“I’m too old for you,” he protested inanely, giving her the first answer that came to mind.

“Fuck me anyway,” she whispered.

“I have a wife.” _Had_ a wife. Irikah was dead. He was not married anymore.

“Fuck me anyway,” she repeated, stroking her thumbs along the vee of muscle over his hips.

He tilted his head back and willed his mind to work as her mouth moved over his jaw and down the sensitive line of his neck, sending sparks firing through him. The sight of the dark sky above them reminded him of where they were. “We’re in public,” he said.

“Fuck me anyway,” she breathed against his throat and hooked her thigh around his hip, drawing her skirt even higher.

He suppressed a groan and called upon the discipline that had been trained into him. He blocked out the sensations her body was creating against his and looked down at her. She met his gaze with glassy eyes. Her pupils were blown wide with only a thin ring of green around them. Her skin was pale but flushed. There was a slight tremor in the hands stroking just above the waistband of his pants.

“You’re stoned,” he accused.

“Fuck me anyway,” she said again, more firmly this time.

He cursed and wrapped a hand around her jaw, holding her face immobile. She attempted to draw back but met the wall, and he used a finger beneath her chin to tilt her head back. The edges of her nostrils were pink and slightly chapped. He brought a thumb up to draw her full lower lip down. When she scraped her teeth over it, he saw that they were tinged with pink as well. Experimentally, he called upon his biotics and drew a finger of the other hand down her arm. She shivered slightly, but there was only a small answering flicker of dark energy. She had been using red sand, but that was not her drug of choice tonight.

“What are you on?” he asked.

“Does it matter?” she asked.

“It matters,” he said, releasing her face and taking her arm in his hand. He turned it so that he could see the inside of her elbow and almost wished he hadn’t when he saw the faint spots dotting the inside of the joint and trailing down to her wrist. “Drala’fa,” he said sadly, resting his forehead against hers, “what happened to you? You were supposed to better yourself.”

“Well, that didn’t happen, did it?” she snapped, jerking her arm from his grasp and sidestepping him. “Are you going to fuck me or not? I’ll even give the first round to you for free.”

“You are stoned, Drala’fa. I am not going to take advantage of you,” he said.

“That’s too bad,” she crooned, drawing a finger down his sternum. “Let me know if you change your mind. Until then, move aside, sweetheart. You’re scaring potential clients away.”

His eyes narrowed on her. “You said you were not a whore,” he said coldly.

“I said a lot of things,” she said, stepping back. “I was a stupid kid. Look, if you just want to talk or reminisce about old times or something, come back in the morning. I’m working and you really are running business off and I’d like to eat. I gave my last credit to my landlord this morning.”

He cursed. “What is your hourly rate? Come with me and I will pay for your time.”

She laughed, but rather than the bright, tinkling laugh of his memories, this was harsh and joyless. “I charge by the minute, honey. More volume and it encourages these fuckers to move faster.”

“I will pay it,” he reiterated.

She shrugged. “All right. It’s your money. Sorry, sweetheart,” she called out over his shoulder to the man lurking behind him waiting for her. “Come back tomorrow.”

“She will not be here tomorrow, either,” Thane told the man. “Go away.”

“Even you can’t afford me for two days,” she said, stumbling slightly as she turned to walk with him.

“I can,” he said tersely. “Please tell me you do not live in that squalid motel.”

She laughed again. “They rent by the hour, not the week. I live at your house. Doesn’t look like much anymore, though. Can’t afford the upkeep. The new landlord’s cheap and I’m not a very good whore.”

“You are _not_ a whore,” he said sharply.

“You don’t know me,” she said bitterly. “You have no idea what I am.”

“I know what you were,” he said, directing her to the car that, fortunately, was still there. “I know what you could be.”

“You’re sparkling,” she said dreamily as he looped an arm around her waist to steady her.

“Drell venom can cause hallucinations,” he said, opening the door and tucking her into the seat.

“You’re venomous?” she asked. “Will it kill me?”

“Mildly,” he said. “And, no. Synesthesia is the most common side effect for humans. The sparkles will dissipate quickly.” He should have been more careful. He should not have kissed her.

He got in the other side of the car and input the coordinates for the house he’d rented for them half a decade ago. She leaned her head against the window and stared out at the city in silence until they arrived at their destination. She stumbled again exiting the car, so he scooped her up into his arms and carried her up the steps to the front door. His code still worked. The lock flashed from red to green when he passed his omni-tool over it. He shook his head. She should have changed it.

He paused in the foyer, taking in the changes since the last time he’d seen the house. The previously gleaming wood floors were as dingy and dull as her hair and the furniture was gone. The walls were stained with yellow from nicotine and it smelled musty. Dishes were piled in the sink and an open, empty container of something sat on the counter. He had never known her to be filthy. She had regularly gotten herself dirty going about her day, but she’d showered every day that there had been enough hot water and she’d been fastidious about her living spaces. The door to the children’s room was firmly closed and a fine layer of dust had settled on the doorknob.

He carried her up the creaking stairs and turned right to go to her bedroom. She shook her head and pointed left. A glance through the open door of what had once been her room told him it was as empty as the rest of the house had been. The room that had once been his, however, now bore the only signs of life outside of the kitchen. His bed and dresser were still in place, though the drawers were hanging open and clothing spilled from them. The closet was open and he saw more garments haphazardly hung from the rack and more shoes like the ones she now wore lying on the floor. The bed, though, was neatly made and was the only point of order in the chaos. He laid her down on it and removed the spiky shoes from her feet before placing them neatly beside the closet door.

“Stay there,” he ordered. “Do not get up. I will be back.”

“You’re paying,” she said, throwing an arm over her eyes. “You’re the boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken some liberties with Thane's timeline on hunting Irikah's killers in order to facilitate timing and Red's age for a later story in this series. I couldn't exactly make her younger, so I made Thane work faster.


	2. Denial and Regret

Thane left the room and stopped on the landing, bracing his hands against his thighs as he leaned forward and tried to adjust to this turn of events. Something terrible had happened. Of that, he was certain. She was no longer with the Reds. She was prostituting herself on a street corner. She was using drugs. She was angry and bitter even with what he suspected was Hallex in her system. Why was she still here? Why had she taken over his room when she’d been the one to choose the other? Why had she never produced her omni-tool programs? Where were the children?

He went into her old room and found what he was certain was the spatter of old bloodstains in the carpet. There was a hole in one of the walls that might have come from a person’s head. The glass in the window was cracked but not fully broken. The closet door was off its hinges and hung crookedly. Someone, likely Drala’fa, had fought here. He wondered if the blood had belonged to her or to her assailant. That answered one question for him.

He went down the stairs and hesitated in front of the door to the children’s room. He was unsure what he would find and didn’t know if he wanted to see it. He could imagine far too many scenarios far too easily. He took a deep breath that left him in a relieved sigh when he opened the door to find no blood or signs of violence. The beds were unmade and a few held stuffed animals as if the kids had gotten up for school one morning and simply never returned. Toys were stacked in bins on a bookshelf holding books whose pages had yellowed with age. Colorful drawings were pinned to the walls. Folded clothes filled the drawers of the small dressers beside each bunk bed. Coats hung neatly in the closet with boots lined up in orderly rows beneath them. A sheet of paper with a child’s scrawl rested on a small table in the corner. A pencil still lay atop it. It was like this room had been frozen in time. He almost expected the children to come bounding into it at any moment.

He closed the door again as he left and went into the kitchen to begin cleaning it. The mess made him uncomfortable, but she was in no position to do anything about it. He listened for her as he washed the dishes, disposed of the trash, and found something with which to clean the counters, but she didn’t move. She might have been asleep had the stimulant in her system had time to wear off. She was probably staring at the ceiling. She had no cleaning mech, so he used an ancient robotic sweeper to clean the floors. When he was satisfied with the cleanliness of the kitchen, he used his omni-tool to locate a restaurant that delivered to their location and placed an order for soup. He would get groceries in the morning.

He didn’t particularly want to return upstairs to the filthy bedroom where she waited, but he forced himself to climb the steps anyway. She was still lying where he’d left her, though she’d managed to get up and change into a pair of loose pants and a t-shirt without him hearing her. She could still be stealthy when she wanted. She looked over at him as he entered. He was gratified to see that her color had normalized and her pupils were beginning to constrict.

“Where are Abby and Gabe?” he asked.

Pain flashed behind her eyes and she lowered her head to the pillow again before saying dully, “Dead.”

It was the answer he’d expected, but not the one he’d hoped for. “How?” he asked, moving to sit on the bed beside her.

She didn’t look at him as she said, “I fucked up. They’re dead because of me.”

“What happened, Drala’fa?” he asked gently, reaching out to smooth a lock of sweaty hair that had stuck to her forehead.

Her hands curled into fists and she said, “Remember that group we absorbed your last day? They weren’t happy about it. So when the Milwaukee chapter of the Bloody Devils came looking for revenge, they were willing to help. We’d just brokered the first shipment of weapons to the Illuminated Primacy and my guys didn’t approve of working with aliens. Finch turned Shawn. I was…distracted. I didn’t see it. He’d always been pushy, but he’d always fallen in line. And then he didn’t. He went to the school and picked up the kids. They thought he was safe. They went with him. He killed Alex and gave them to the Devils.”

She sat up and swung her legs over the bed. Her heels tapped out a staccato rhythm on the floor and her knuckles turned white as she gripped the edge of the mattress. He waited and she continued, “I came back to the row house to find their bodies. It was…awful. They hurt them, Thane. They hurt my babies. Abby and Gabe got the worst of it. I could barely identify them. They were marked. A devil dripping blood. A six-pointed star. And a red one with a snake climbing it inside a circle. The Reds helped. They _knew_ them. They knew them and they killed them anyway.”

“What did you do?” he asked, suspecting that he knew the answer.

“I killed them all,” she said. “I burned it to the ground with the gang inside. And then I walked away and never looked back. I heard a handful who hadn't been there had gotten away and had set up elsewhere, but the ones involved were gone and I didn’t care about the rest anymore. Fuck.”

She raked a hand through her dirty red hair and reached out a shaking hand to open a drawer in the nightstand beside the bed. Thane heard the rattle of pills in a bottle and snatched it out of her grasp before she could open it. As he’d suspected, it contained Hallex.

She turned and scowled at him. “Give it back.”

“No,” he said and rose from the bed. She followed, protesting loudly, as he went into the attached bathroom and dumped the pills into the toilet. She tried to reach in and fish them out, but he hooked her around the waist and dragged her back. She weighed next to nothing and it was a simple matter to carry her back into the bedroom. “You are allowed to grieve,” he told her. “You are even allowed to blame yourself for your part in their deaths. However, I will not stand idly by as you self-destruct. You are not a whore. You are not a junkie. You are too intelligent and have too much potential to throw your life away because you made a mistake.”

“What the hell do you know about it, Thane?” she demanded. “What the hell do you know about any of this? You don’t! You don’t know what it’s like to look at the mutilated bodies of the only people in this world that you loved and know that every mark on them is your fault! You don’t know what it’s like to see someone you love broken and bloody and know that they suffered and they screamed for you and you weren’t fucking there! It was my job to save them! It was my job to protect them and I failed them! I should be dead, not them. It should have been me hanging from that rafter! Not Abby! Not Gabe! _Me_! You don’t know shit, Thane Krios! You think you know pain with your perfect wife and your perfect child when the only thing wrong with your life is that your wife doesn’t like your job!”

“My wife is dead!” he shouted. She gaped at him and he softened his voice. “Irikah is dead and it is my fault. I do know, Drala’fa. I know.”

The fight seemed to go out of her. She sank onto the bed and shook her head. “Gods, what a fucked-up pair we make. What happened?”

He clasped his hands behind his back and said, “I killed the leaders of a batarian slaver ring preying on hanar colonies. The slavers wanted revenge. They paid the Shadow Broker for my identity. They feared me, so they did not go after me directly. They waited until I was far from home and they struck at what was most precious to me. You are not the only one to fall victim to hubris, to mistake confidence for wisdom. And, like you, it cost me everything. They killed my wife. The things they did to her were…unspeakable. My son survived only because she had the presence of mind to hide him and he remained quiet. He watched his mother die screaming my name. So, believe me when I tell you that I do know.”

“What did you do?” she asked.

“I killed them all,” he said, echoing her earlier words. “All but one. That is why I am here. I need your help, Drala’fa. The man who killed my wife lives in Chicago. I need you to help me find him so that I can finish this.”

She gave another of those bitter laughs and buried her face in her hands. “I can’t help you, Thane. You don’t know how quickly things change in this world. I don’t have contacts anymore. I don’t know anyone. I have no reputation left. I have nothing to give you.”

“You have knowledge,” he said, crouching in front of her. “You know the underbelly of this city as well as anyone. You can find him. It may take time, but I have nothing left but time. I will wait as long as I need. Please, Drala’fa. Help me avenge my family as you were able to do yours.”

“It won’t help,” she said bleakly. “It won’t bring her back. It won’t cleanse the guilt. You’ll lose the last of your purpose and then you’ll have nothing. You’ll become just like me.”

“I will not,” he said. “And you will not remain so.”

“Go home to your son, Thane,” she said. “He needs you more than she needs revenge. When does it stop?”

“When the last of the triggermen are dead,” he said.

“And then what will you do?” she asked. “Then will you go back to your son?”

“I do not know how to be a father,” he said. “Kolyat is better where he is.”

“Why are we still alive, Thane?” she asked. “If we failed, why are we still alive?”

“Because there is work yet to do,” he said.

“I can’t help you,” she said again. “You should just kill me. I tried, but…I’m too much of a coward.”

There hadn’t been a fight in the other bedroom, he realized. He’d seen the result of her internal rage turned outward, not an external threat. He shook his head. He wasn’t going to kill her any more than he was going to allow her to continue killing herself. “You could not afford my fee.”

“And if I help you?” she asked. “Will you kill me then?”

“You just said you cannot help me,” he pointed out.

“I can find a way,” she said. “I’m resourceful.”

“Then help me and I will help you,” he said, allowing her to take it as she wished.

“What’s his name?” she asked.

“He is a human named Stiv Kay,” he said.

“Stiv?” she asked. The color drained from her face. “Stiv killed your wife. Oh, shit, Thane. I am so, so sorry.”

“You know him?” he asked, coming to attention.

“I know of him,” she said. “He’s notorious among the girls. He’s the one we warn the new girls to stay away from. He’s killed a lot of us. I’ve…seen what he does. He’s a monster.”

“Can you find him?” he asked.

She swallowed visibly and nodded. “No,” she whispered, “but I can get him to come to me. Not exactly how I pictured you helping me.”

Bait, he realized. She was saying that she could use herself as bait. Her face was ashen and her eyes wide. She was terrified of the very idea, but she would do it. For him.

“I would not let him harm you,” he promised.

“You wouldn’t be able to stop him,” she said, shuddering. “He sends his men first. He doesn’t come until they have her ready for him.”

“Then we will find another way,” he said. He was disappointed, but he would not allow her to come to harm for his revenge.

She rubbed her face and said, “Are you still as good as you were?”

“I am better,” he said.

She nodded. “Maybe…maybe we could do it.”

“No,” he said. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

“That isn’t what I mean,” she said. “I could lure them to the motel. You wait out of sight. Once they’re all there, you strike. Kill all but one. We’d have to make it look like I’d been…hurt. You get the one that’s left to call Stiv and then you kill him, too. Then, it’s just you and Stiv. Those rooms are soundproofed. No one would hear.”

It could work, he thought. “I will consider it. However, before I will risk you even that much, you must get clean. Drug abuse will slow your reaction times and dull your thought processes.”

“I’m not going to rehab,” she said. “I’m not a junkie, Thane. I just use it to help me get through the day. Hallex lets me fake it with the guys and Videlicet helps me keep up with them. Red sand gives me a weapon for the ones who want to hurt me since I never got an implant. Eximo helps me come down off the stims. I’m not an addict.”

“Then you can stay off of them for a week to allow them to leave your system and your mind to clear,” he said. He didn’t believe her, but she would have to acknowledge it for herself.

“Whatever you want,” she said. “Like I said, you’re paying. You’re the boss.”

“Where are they?” he asked.

Her eyes narrowed. “You can’t get rid of my whole stash. Do you know how much it’s going to cost me to replace that Hallex?”

“Where are they?” he repeated.

“I’m not telling you,” she said stubbornly. “You don’t need to know. I won’t use it.”

“And I can only ensure that if I have them under my control,” he said.

“You’ll give them back?” she asked. “I’m going to need them later when I go back to work.”

“Yes,” he lied without qualm.

“The Eximo is in the nightstand,” she said. “The Videlicet is in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. The sand is in the top drawer of the dresser.”

“And that is all of it?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, but her eyes slid away. Drala’fa was a terrible liar.

He leaned in and slid his hand across her face. Her eyes closed and she pressed her cheek against his palm. Her lips parted when he nuzzled his nose against hers. “Thank you, Drala’fa,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome,” she replied and he felt her warm breath bathe his lips.

His mouth met hers and her hands came up to frame his face. He nipped lightly at her bottom lip and she opened for him. She weighed little more than she had as a child, he discovered when he pulled her down into his lap. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her warm body molding to his. Humans were so _soft,_ even this waif who was more skin and bone than meat. Her scant muscles gave under his fingers. Her skin retained an outline of his hands if he pressed too hard. Her hair was like silk even in its current state. His tongue explored the inside of her lips, her tongue, her teeth. She traced his frill with her thumbs, and he groaned helplessly into her mouth. Gods, he wanted her. He had no right for his erection to be straining against the leather of his pants. He couldn’t have her. He knew that. It didn’t stop the longing he felt for her. He wanted to lay her down on the bed and bury himself in her. He wanted to hear her call his name. He wanted to see her fall apart around him. Kalahira forgive him, he wanted to connect with another living being, to touch another soul for even a brief moment. He wanted it to be  _her_. They were bound in ways that he doubted were romantic but which he couldn't explain. If only they could go back together. They could try again.

Instead, he drew back and searched her eyes. She bore a dreamy, trusting expression that made her look like his girl once more. “Where are the rest of the drugs, Drala’fa?” he murmured against her lips.

“Under the loose floorboard in the closet,” she whispered obediently.

“Are there any more?” he asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“There’s a bag of red sand in the coffee,” she said. “And more Hallex mixed in with the headache medicine in the cabinet. And a vial of Videlicet with the medigel. I think that’s all. Oh, and a baggie of cocaine in the air vent in the next room.”

“And yet you say you aren’t a junkie,” he said. “You have track marks between your fingers and toes.”

“Guys don’t like seeing them on our arms,” she said. “Messes up the aesthetic and hurts their ego if they know you had to get high to fuck ‘em.”

“If I leave the drugs where they are, will you use them again before the week is out?” he asked.

“Probably,” she admitted.

“As I thought,” he said and reluctantly lifted her off of him. One of the lesser-known effects of drell venom was that it made a very effective truth serum, especially in humans. Since he couldn’t exactly ask her to lick him, kissing her had been the least obtrusive way to deliver the venom. At least, that’s what he wanted to believe. He had no right to want her.

She didn’t protest this time as he went around the house collecting the drugs and pouring them down the sink or toilet. She would be angry later, but for now, she was content to lie on her back on the floor and watch whatever her mind was telling her she saw. When he was satisfied that they were all gone, he carried her back to the bed and laid her down once more. He would find a cot or blanket and sleep in the other bedroom. Tomorrow, he would replace the furniture.

She stopped him before he left the room. “You can sleep here,” she said. “I won’t jump you in your sleep. There’s no need for you to sleep on the floor.”

“That…would not be prudent, Drala’fa,” he said. “I will see you in the morning.”

She was asleep before he left the room.


	3. The Ashes of Dreams

"I fucking _hate you_ ," she groaned into the toilet bowl as her stomach heaved again.

"Your own choices led you here," Thane said, scooping her hair out of her face and pressing a cool cloth to her forehead. "I will not pity you."

"No fucking sh--ughhh." There was nothing left in her stomach. She hadn't eaten in days. Why couldn't she stop? Her arms trembled from the effort of holding herself upright. The cold tile floor bit into her knobby knees. The cloth on her forehead burned. Her nightshirt was plastered to her thin body with sweat from the nightmare that had brought her retching out of sleep. Her shivers added to the tremors that ran through her until she felt like a marionette with its strings tangled. She swiped the back of her hand over her mouth and laid her head on her forearm. "I'm well aware why I'm here, Thane."

She wished he had never returned. She was doing just fine before he came back. Sure, she hated her job, but who didn’t? Yeah, she occasionally needed some help getting through the day, but again, who didn’t? When she was stoned, she could forget the sight of little Abby and little Gabe staring sightlessly at her, accusing her for failing them. She didn’t think about the dusty, dim room downstairs that had once been full of light and laughter. She didn’t choke on the ashes of the dreams she’d had.

Thane brought all of that back. Seeing him in their house, so unchanged even after all of these years, took her back. She half-expected Abby to come running into her room to tell her about her adventures at school or to hear Gabe’s soft whispers after he’d finally rediscovered his voice. It stole her breath and held her throat in a vice grip. She missed them  _so much_ it was all she could do to exist from one day to the next. 

She’d been so young, so naïve. She’d misjudged and had assumed she would be enough to keep her people loyal. She hadn’t anticipated them massing against her, biding their time until they could strike. She hadn’t expected them to go after the innocents because they were still too afraid to come for her. Her kids were dead and it was _her fault_. She’d been their Shepherd. It was her job to protect them. She’d failed and they had paid the price for her blindness.

She groaned again and slid sideways onto the cold floor, curling around herself. Ants marched under her skin, setting her nerve endings alight. There were medications to help speed the withdrawal process, but they didn’t negate it. She wished the Reds had killed her outright. She wished Tuco had never dragged her out of that burning house. Five years ago, if she’d been told she would be here, a prostitute and a drug addict, she’d have either laughed or shot the person. The girl she’d been would be ashamed of the woman she’d become.

Thane leaned over her, looking down with consternation written across his lovely alien features. “Get up, Drala’fa.”

“Comfortable,” she muttered, throwing an arm across her face.

“I do not care. You are going to get up. You are going to clean yourself, and you are coming downstairs to eat at a real table. If you are to assist me with Stiv Kay, you must get out of your room and begin acting human again.”

“You haven’t met many humans, have you?” she groused but rolled onto her elbow. “Humans are lazy.” She dragged herself to her feet and fought dizziness before finding her equilibrium again.

Thane showed no pity. “I have given you time enough, Drala’fa. If we are to plan effectively, we must start now. Why would a batarian sympathizer be on Earth?”

"There is a small batarian settlement here now. Supposed to be refugees from Kar’Shan, but I’m pretty sure it’s a smuggling ring. Stiv leads it.”

She tottered down the stairs, trying to ignore the rising tension in her chest. Her eyes cut to the closed door at the foot of the staircase, and she almost missed the step in front of her. Thane reached out to steady her but didn’t let her stop. She didn’t want to be down here. She didn’t want to walk through the living area where they’d gathered together to watch vids or sit at the table where she’d helped the kids with their homework. She avoided the downstairs as much as possible. Now, he was making her spend time here. The tremors knotted the muscles in her forearms. She fisted her hands at her side.

“Come on, Thane. Just a little?” she whispered. “Just…I can’t do this.”

“You can and you will,” he said. “They are dead, Drala’fa. You are still here. You are not going to escape any longer. You must face it.”

The words cut and twisted like the knives he kept tucked into his coat sleeves. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. Her eyes burned. She didn't want to still be here when they were dead. That meant she would never see them again. She didn't want to live in a world where they weren't. Her world had never been bright, but she'd at least had hope. Now, it was dark and colorless and there wasn't enough air. She probed at her protruding ribcage, expecting to find a sucking chest wound to account for the exquisite agony she felt. It didn't seem possible that a body could experience such torment without showing some sign on the outside. Withdrawal was nothing in comparison to her grief. She needed to forget again.

Thane continued to watch her with those dispassionate eyes. He wasn’t going to bend. Fine. There was at least one fix she knew she could get. She just had to play her cards right. She took the seat he gestured to and forced down as much as she could tolerate of the soup he’d made. He was trying to keep her meals light. She appreciated the gesture, but she detested soup. Not only did it remind her of that first meal with him when the world looked bright and full of promise, it also reminded her of countless others where she’d filled her belly with little more than water in order to ensure that the children got what little solids she’d been able to scrounge together. Those remembered pangs of hunger gnawed at her now, but her body refused to cooperate.

She carried her bowl to the sink and dumped the remainder in the trash collector. There had been a time when she wouldn’t have dreamed of wasting food that way, but the silent room was a stark testament that that time had passed. She ate little even when there was money for food, and there was no one else left to feed. Her stomach rolled at the thought, and she fought to keep down what little she’d been able to take in. She would cut her arm off for a single dose of Hallex or bump of dust.

Thane was still seated at the table. He stiffened when she stopped behind him and slid her arms around his shoulders. Her hands splayed across his chest. The leathers he wore had changed since he’d last been here. When he was here before, he’d been dressed for winter. Now, he wore a shirt that left a wide rectangle of his toned chest bare. Her fingers tripped over his scales. He moved to remove them, but she dipped her head and whispered, “Thank you for cooking.”

“You are welcome, Drala’fa,” he said, resting his hands on her wrists.

She nuzzled the rigid frill over his cheeks with her nose and drew her tongue over the velvety scarlet ribbing below, hoping that his venom wasn’t restricted to his saliva. If it was, she would just have to get him to kiss her. It shouldn’t be difficult. She’d seen the flare of desire in his dark eyes. She’d felt it pressed against her when she’d been in his arms. He wanted her. She was accustomed to men wanting her and no longer had qualms about using her body to get what she wanted in return.

“What are you doing?” he asked steadily.

“Showing my appreciation,” she lied. There it was. She felt the tingle on her tongue that had preceded the hallucinations before. She hadn’t noticed it the first time he’d kissed her. She’d been too focused on the rest of him. The second, before she’d lost herself to the euphoria and run her damn mouth about her caches, she’d felt it. This wasn’t as strong. The venom must be more concentrated in his saliva, but it was enough. The ants under her skin stopped their relentless march. The need coiled in her belly lowered its head. Stars danced behind her eyelids.

“You devious wench,” Thane accused, jerking away from her and out of his seat. His eyes bore into her, cold and accusing. “I am not your drug, Red Shepherd.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “Red Shepherd is dead.”

“Perhaps she is,” he said frigidly. “Red was not a coward. I do not know who you are. Set up the meeting. I will deal with Stiv Kay myself and return to Kahje. I do not need a junkie getting in my way.” He turned on his heel and strode from the room.

He was going to leave her. Panic bubbled up past the heady flare of his venom and spilled over. She ran through the kitchen, stumbling over her own feet. He couldn't leave. He couldn't go. He couldn't just come in, open these old graves, and then leave her like this. She needed him. She needed  _someone_ who knew, someone who remembered them. She couldn't face this by herself anymore. 

“Thane! Stop! Don’t go!” He paused at the door and raised a brow ridge. “I’ll do better, I swear it. I’ll _be_ better. Just don’t leave me. I can’t…I can’t do this alone.”

“Red did not beg anyone to do her bidding.”

Her chin trembled. She wasn’t Red, not anymore. That girl was gone. Wasn’t she? The woman she’d become had buried the child she’d been so deep that she didn’t know if she could raise her again. _He’s right, you know,_ she told herself. _You have become a coward. Who the hell are you? Abby would be ashamed of you._ She drew herself up and squared her thin shoulders. “Stay,” she said, just barely managing to keep the question out of her voice. “I’ll help you.”

“If you ever use me to feed your addiction again, I will leave. If you indulge in drug use again, I will leave. If you sell your body again, I will leave. Do we have an agreement, Drala’fa?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Sit down. We have work to do.”

 

* * *

 

She stood in front of the mirror in her bathroom, looking critically at herself for the first time in what had probably been years. Her face, always sharp before, was downright gaunt. Dark circles ringed her dull, green eyes. Her auburn hair looked more brown than red and was slick under her fingertips. It draped limply over her scalp and hung in uneven chunks around her shoulders. She vaguely remembered chopping it off one drunken night. She pulled her chapped lips back to reveal pink-stained teeth, a sure sign of sand abuse. Her shirt billowed around her. Lifting it revealed a prominent ribcage, sunken belly, and protruding hipbones. Knobby joints and a complete lack of muscle tone made her almost skeletal. She looked ghastly. It was a wonder she’d gotten any business at all. Thane had told her that biotics had higher caloric requirements than the rest of the population. Between her addictions, her lack of appetite, and poverty, her body was eating itself in an effort to fuel abilities she couldn’t even harness.

Promising Thane that she would avoid her vices was easier said than accomplished, but a rational, lucid part of her mind insisted that he was right. She gazed at her dissipated reflection and said, “I’m an addict. Fuck.” She braced her hands on either side of the sink and bent forward, expelling a rush of air. “How did I get here? Who the hell am I?” She slowly raised her head again, watching a single tear track down her hollow cheek. “Abby and Gabe are dead. Alex and Rodriguez, Sally, Johnny, Tuco, Tuco’s mom, Cierra, Lucy, Jenna, Paul, Denny, Georgie, Kira, Nate. They’re all dead. I didn’t save them. Why am I still here?”

“I ask myself the same question on a daily basis, Drala’fa,” Thane said, standing in the doorway with his hands clasped behind his back.

“How do you do it?” she asked, sniffing and wiping the back of her hand under her nose.

“Battle sleep,” he answered.

“Sounds convenient,” she muttered. “I wish I could forget.”

“You think that,” he said, “but you don’t really. If you did, you would have cleared the room downstairs rather than leaving it as a shrine to them. You would have moved out of this house. You do not want to forget. You want to bury yourself alive with them.”

“It should have been me,” she said in a choked voice. “It should have been me. Not them. Never them.”

“I know, Drala’fa,” he said gently. “Not all who seek happiness are meant for it. The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate...”

“To have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well,” she finished, the long-forgotten words floating to the surface of her mind. “Emerson. But what if the difference we make is a bad one? Usefulness, I get. Honor, compassion, that means nothing to me. I tried to be honorable and compassionate. I tried to do the right thing. I stood in the ashes of what it brought me. What if we don’t bring anything good into the world? What if we can’t?”

“Then we must take bad out of it,” he said.

“As far as purposes go, I suppose that’s good enough,” she said, pushing away from the sink. “I need a shower.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Yes, you do, Drala’fa.”

He left and she stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the layers of grime. Her soul would not come clean as easily and she wasn’t certain that she cared. Once, she’d thought little of how others viewed her as long as they followed her orders. There had been a time when she’d been fearless, when she’d been bold, when she’d believed she could own the world and all that was in it, or at least her little slice of it. Something dormant in her stirred. The child who’d risen to command a small army woke, stretched, and looked around in disdain. It was time to grow up. It was time to stop wallowing in the past. Thane was right. She’d tried to bury herself here. No more.

When she was clean, she stood in front of the mirror again and rummaged through a drawer until she found a pair of shears. Wet russet locks fell in clumps onto the sink. She took care this time to keep it even and when she’d done the best she could, she called for Thane. He asked her to come into his room, so she carried the scissors with her and handed them to him. “Trim me up?” she asked.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she said. “Hair doesn’t have nerve endings.”

“Then I will help you, Drala’fa,” he said.

She stood still as he moved around her, snipping the ragged edges of her hair until it hung smooth and even around her jawline. If he noticed that she was dressed in nothing but a towel, he didn’t mention it. Of course, she thought wryly, without clothes to hide her, she doubted anyone but Stiv Kay would find her attractive now. Her eyes lingered on the tiny dots speckling the inside of her elbow and drifted down to her hands and feet where more hid between her toes and the webbing between her fingers. She’d gotten creative with injection sites when she’d figured out that johns didn’t want to see track marks. It hadn’t mattered to her where it had gone in, just that it had. Her face burned with both dismay at her lack of control and longing to do it again.

That night, when Thane asked her about dinner, she requested that he make something other than soup. He settled on a light asari dish that held no previous connotations for her. She thought she saw him smile when she went back for a second helping. “Be cautious, Drala’fa,” he warned. “Your body is not accustomed to so much.”

“I feel like I could eat a horse,” she said, but paced herself anyway. “I’m going to send a message to Stiv. He’s been hounding me for an appointment and I’ve told him I’m booked. I’ll tell him I had a cancellation and can work him in.”

“Are you certain you want to do this?” he asked. “I cannot guarantee your safety.”

“You still believe in that,” she said, shaking her head. “Thought you’d learned by now. Nowhere is safe.” She pushed the plate away with a sigh and dug a cigarette out of the pack in her pocket. Thane raised a brow ridge and gave her a pointed look. She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll go outside. But I’m not giving up _all_ my bad habits.”

He accompanied her into the backyard, but took a seat far enough from her that the smoke wouldn’t reach him. The flame from her lighter illuminated the night for an instant, and she made a mental note to hire someone to cut the grass. Her hand trembled as she took a long drag from the cigarette. She wondered when the tremors would stop. She wasn’t going to be able to hold a pistol if they didn’t and she certainly did not want to face Stiv’s goons unarmed. If Thane was as much like her as she thought, he would sacrifice her to get to Stiv. He let nothing stand in the way of a target, not even…whatever she was to him.

She supposed she should feel guilty for being grateful that he was here, but she didn’t. He was hot, there was no doubt about that. She felt _something_ for him, though she couldn't put it into words and wasn't sure it was sexual. He was a man. He was helping her. That had come to mean sex to her, but he didn't seem to want to fuck her when she wasn't throwing herself on him. Regardless of her feelings, she would never again open herself the way she had before. Caring about anyone would be the height of stupidity. People were taken from her too easily, and she was under no illusion that Thane would choose to stay with her. When Stiv was dead, he would go back to Kahje and she would be alone. Again.

That was okay, though, she decided. It was better that way. As long as she knew he was out there somewhere, she wasn’t truly alone. And with him at a distance, these strange feelings stirring in her would sleep again. There was something freeing about realizing she had nothing left to lose but this quiet, dangerous alien. Thane could take care of himself. He wasn’t an innocent, helpless child. He was death personified. As long as she didn’t let anyone else in, she could protect herself. She would never be safe, but she _could_ control her risk. He'd told her once that he felt nothing most of the time. Perhaps that was the answer. If she didn't feel, she couldn't hurt. Her emotional capacity had always been stunted. She'd realized even as a child that she didn't feel the same things that others did, but the children had kept her from absolute emotional silence. After that terrible day, grief had risen up and consumed her. She'd forgotten what it felt like to be numb. It was quiet, peaceful, familiar.    


	4. Revenge Served Cold

Thane lay on the hot roof of the convenience store across the street from the seedy motel where he’d found Drala’fa. She was inside, waiting for Stiv’s goons to come for her. He’d provided her with a pistol but still had doubts about her ability to hold her own against multiple targets. Fortunately, his sniper rifle was fitted with a scope that allowed him to see through walls and he’d armed it with piercing rounds. He was confident that he could remove them before they could harm her. She simply had to subdue the final target long enough for Thane to get to her.

Five males exited a ground vehicle in the parking lot. The pair of batarians with the three humans confirmed them as the target. He focused on each man in turn through his scope, memorizing their faces as they climbed the stairs to the second level. Drala’fa met them at the door and his breath caught in his chest. When they’d parted ways for her to prepare, she’d been dressed in a simple pair of what she called jeans and a plain short-sleeved shirt. Now, however, she wore only a slip of gauzy fabric that revealed more than it concealed. Even in her wasted state, she was striking. The cups of the garment cradled her small, pert breasts while the translucent fabric covered her pronounced bone structure. For an instant, she was a vision of what she could be, given time and care. She had grown into a beautiful woman, for a human.

She stepped back to allow the men into the room and Thane forced his focus from her body. He’d been wary about leaving her alone in the room in case she’d managed to stash something there on one of her previous forays, but she’d repeated her promise to stay clean and her eyes looked clear. Her lips were tighter than normal and through the high-powered scope, he thought he could see her pulse fluttering in her throat, but that was fear rather than intoxicants. It was normal for her to be afraid. She hadn’t had his training and she hadn’t been active in half a decade. He regretted it, but it didn’t sway his determination. This was the most efficient route to Stiv Kay. He wanted this done. He wanted to sink into battle sleep until what was left of his life was over.

And what would she do when he left her? He couldn’t stay here with her, though a part of him wanted to. He couldn’t take her with him. She would be unsatisfied with any semblance of a life he could give her. He would have no direction once Stiv Kay was dead and she needed to continue growing up. Her growth had stunted when she’d disconnected. She’d been a child then. She wasn’t anymore, but she had never had the opportunity to learn who she was without this squalid life weighing her down.

He could give that to her, he realized. He could give her a way out. He had more than enough resources to see him through until the end of his life if he never took another contract. She would never have to want for money or food or shelter again. More than that, though, he could give her a purpose. She had no friends, no family, no real home. He could not take her with him, but he could give her a key to the rest of the galaxy. She was like him. She needed the rush of battle. She needed to match her wits against a worthy enemy. The human Alliance was spreading across the galaxy. If she joined them, she could receive training and education she would be hard-pressed to get elsewhere. Without them, she was likely to end up in a mercenary group, another half-trained thug in custom-painted armor. She was better than that. He would see to it that she knew it before he left.

One of the men drew the curtain closed. Thane switched the scope to penetrative mode and oriented himself with the room’s occupants. It wouldn’t do to rush and hit her by accident. _He_ was better than that. He pushed her out of his mind and focused on the task at hand. _Identify the target. Inhale. Center the scope. Exhale. Squeeze. Gently._ The Viper bucked in his hands and one of the targets fell. He shifted and squeezed again. A second man went down. Drala’fa dove off of the bed. The other three looked around for the assailant. The rifle bucked. Three down. Two remained. Drala’fa peered over the side of the bed. He heard the report of her pistol and was breaking his rifle down before the fourth man’s body hit the floor. It was up to her now.

Thane slid down the access ladder attached to the side of the building and broke into a sprint. He slapped his rifle against the magnetic holster on his back and cloaked before darting across the street. Drala’fa shouted, a sound of pain rather than rage. He bolted up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time, concerning himself only with silencing his footfalls as he did so. The cloaking software beeped a warning in his ear, letting him know he had thirty seconds before it fell. That was more than enough time for him to slip through the shattered window and place his pistol against the side of the batarian’s head. Across the room, Drala’fa stood with the pistol he’d given her aimed and unwavering at the batarian. Her free hand was clapped over her eye. Blood seeped between her fingers.

“How badly are you injured, Drala’fa?” he asked without looking away from the batarian.

“I think I still have an eye,” she said evenly. “I’m fine.”

“Go get cleaned up. I will deal with our friend,” he said.

She nodded and vanished into the adjoining bathroom. He waited until he heard water splash into the sink and then crouched down in front of the hated alien. As much as Thane detested his kind, though, this was not his target. He had killed all of the other triggermen who’d harmed Irikah. Should Drala’fa wish to seek her vengeance for the wound he’d inflicted, Thane would not stop her. If she did not, that was also her choice to make. What he needed from the batarian now was cooperation.

“I am not interested in you,” Thane told him. “I want your master. Call Stiv Kay. Tell him she is ready for him. If you do not, I will trap your soul in your eyeless body for eternity.”

The batarian held his hands up. “All right. All right. I’ll do what you want. I don’t get paid enough for this shit.” Thane concealed his impatience while he waited for the call to complete. Drala’fa returned from the bathroom and he resisted the urge to look at her. If she was on her feet, she was well enough for the moment. The batarian closed his omni-tool and said, “He’s on his way. Can I go?”

“No,” Drala’fa said. In her voice, Thane heard a trace of the girl who’d murdered every member of a rival gang and slept soundly with little Gabe in her arms later that night. She strode up to them and pressed her pistol between the batarian’s four eyes. “This is for Rosie and Calla and Leila and all the other girls you didn’t let go.” She didn’t flinch when she pulled the trigger.

Thane rose to his feet and tilted her head back so that he could see the damage to her face. She’d cleaned the blood out of her eye, but had left it on her skin. Her flesh was split from just above her eyebrow, across her nose, to the far cheek. She truly was fortunate that her eye had been spared. Even minimal additional force would have blinded her or removed her nose. He reached for his medigel, but she stopped him. “He’ll pay more attention to me if he sees I’m wounded. It’ll buy you a few extra seconds. We can treat it later.”

“It will scar,” he warned.

“No sense leaving a pretty corpse, is there?” she asked with a shrug.

Thane accepted her equanimity and dragged the corpses into the bathroom without comment while Drala’fa used a dingy towel to wipe up the worst of the mess. The room was no stranger to stains. When she was finished, they blended in with the rest. Footsteps rang out on the stairwell outside. Thane motioned to get her attention. She took a deep breath before arranging herself on the bed with the pistol tucked beneath her hip. She’d tied ropes to the rusty head and footboard and slipped her hands into the nooses. Thane slid the ropes over her feet, careful to ensure that she could pull out of them, and cracked the door before fading into the shadows.

Drala’fa gasped convincingly when the door flew open and banged against the wall. A tall male stood in the doorway, drinking in the sight of her with a malevolent leer. The man may have looked human once, but now more closely resembled a reanimated corpse. Loose, gray flesh covered his face, riveted by scars. One eye glowed a malignant red. His crooked teeth were stained and broken. This vile creature was the last face his dear Irikah had seen. The thought made his heart lurch.

Stiv Kay stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “Oh, we’re going to have fun, you and I.”

“I don’t think so,” she snarled.

Thane stepped out of the shadows and squeezed the trigger of his pistol. Bright red blood bloomed on the man’s abdomen. Stiv looked down in shock for a bare instant and slapped his hand over the wound. That was all the time he needed to recover, but it was enough for Drala’fa to free herself from her bonds and position herself between their target and the door with her pistol in hand. Stiv’s eyes widened in recognition. He smiled maliciously at Thane and said, “Oh, she was sweet. Her taste was worth whatever you’re going to do to me and more!”

“I will enjoy putting your words to their ultimate and final test,” Thane assured him.

“On the bed,” Drala’fa ordered, poking Stiv in the back with her weapon. “Now.”

“You don’t think I’m going to give in that easily, do you?” he sneered.

“Yes,” Thane said, casting Stiv into stasis before he could turn on Drala’fa. She shoved the man onto the bed and Thane helped her secure him with the ropes she’d affixed for that purpose. “You may leave now if you wish,” he told her. “You do not have to stay for this.”

She looked between Stiv and Thane before saying, “With the window broken, the soundproofing is gone, but no one pays attention to screams in this part of town. I’ll stand guard anyway. Just give me a moment to change.”

She disappeared into the bathroom for a few moments and returned wearing the clothes she’d arrived in. She paused at his side and put a hand on his elbow. “Make him pay for it,” she said fiercely. “But after this, it’s over. There's no more purpose. Try not to lose yourself.” Before he could reply, she dropped her hand and walked out the door.

 

* * *

 

Stiv Kay’s screams filtered through the shattered window as she’d expected. She ignored the sound as she leaned against the balcony railing. She’d applied medigel to the wound on her face while she was getting dressed. It stung but wasn’t throbbing as badly as it was before. Thane was right about the scar. If she’d treated it immediately, it probably would have healed cleanly, but she hadn’t and she couldn’t afford a hospital. Medigel would have to do.

Her hands hadn’t shaken. She was proud of that. She’d been terrified when she’d let the men into the room, but Thane was as good as she remembered. No sooner had they shoved her onto the bed than Thane was dropping them. She hadn’t panicked. A part of her had expected to panic. Instead, Red had roared to life and taken control. For the first time in five years, she’d felt like herself. For the first time since that terrible day, she’d felt alive.

The rush of adrenaline that had accompanied the short fight was better than any artificial high. She’d missed fighting. She’d missed the rush of battle and the thrill of standing on the razor edge between life and death. She was good at killing. She’d told Thane that when she was a child, and it was still true today. She’d accepted that she was a killer even before she met the assassin. Their first kills had been made at roughly the same age, though his was as part of his training while hers was self-defense. Before the kids had been murdered, she’d always been honest with herself, even when the truths were hard ones. That was a trait she intended to reacquire. She wouldn't deny that she liked fighting, liked killing, liked holding the power of life and death in her hands.

The man’s screams did not bother her except in that they served as a reminder to her that Thane’s purpose here was almost complete. Once it was done, he would leave as he had before. Where would she go when he did? What would she do? She couldn’t stay here. Chicago held nothing for her but pain and death. She could go anywhere. She’d heard stories about the illustrious Citadel, but the seedier Omega sounded more her style. If, that is, she intended to continue as she was. What good was a new life if she kept doing the same things she’d always done? No. Omega was a bad idea. The Citadel would be her fresh start. She still knew how to operate tech. She could get a job with one of the omni-tool companies once they saw how good she was. Perhaps she could even update and finally patent her own programs.

It didn’t really matter where she went. What she wanted was to get away from here. She’d spent her entire life in the same neighborhoods with the same people, working the same streets. She wanted to get find somewhere she didn't see Abby and Gabe or Kira's untied shoelaces or hear Alex' laugh as he teased her about something. She could make that happen now. Never again would she lie beneath a sweaty, disgusting man, allowing him to rut so that she could feed herself. If she wanted sex, she would have it, but she’d do it because she _wanted_ to. Never again would she cloud her mind with drugs to escape her reality. She would face it head-on. It still didn’t matter to her whether she lived or died, but she no longer felt the urge to throw herself onto the pavement below as she’d contemplated so many times in the past while standing in this exact spot.

Abby used to say that Red didn't want to die, but she didn't particularly care if she lived, either. Since she'd died, that had not been true. Red had wanted little more than death. Now, though, she was here. She hadn't raised the courage to eat a bullet or try slitting her wrists again yet. She probably wouldn't. That meant she was here until someone took her out. There was nothing but an inconvenient self-preservation instinct making her want to not die, but it was enough that she was going to have to figure out some way to survive this miserable existence.

Thane finally finished and left the room, looking no different than he had when he’d entered. There wasn’t a spot of blood to be found anywhere on his person. He was as stoic as ever. He merely cocked his head in inquiry and they walked away together. She wondered if he felt the same way she had when she’d walked away from the house on Tenth Street. Probably not. She’d known the people she’d killed there. She had eaten with them and slept beside them and played video games with them. She’d trusted them at her back and had watched theirs. She’d called them family. Stiv Kay was a stranger to Thane. If this moment was bittersweet, it was only because his revenge was over.

“Where will you go?” she asked.

“Kahje,” he answered. “I will return to the hanar.”

“Oh,” she said. She’d known he wouldn’t stay, but a part of her had hoped.

“What about you, Drala’fa?” he asked as he held the car door open for her. “Where will you go? What will you become?”

“I don’t know,” she said, sliding into the vehicle. “I haven’t decided yet.”

He joined her before saying, “Might I offer a suggestion?”

“Sure,” she said.

“I believe you would benefit from the Alliance.”

“The Alliance?” she sputtered. “Yeah, right.”

“Why not?” he asked, directing the sky car home.

She shook her head and looked out the window. “They wouldn’t take me. There’s no way. I’m too old for their training program. Most people start at eighteen. I'm already nineteenish. I think. I don’t have any formal education. I don’t even have a name!”

“They accept a wide age range,” he said, ticking off her objections on his fingers. “They provide training. And I can provide you with identification that would hold up even to the Alliance’s scrutiny. Including an educational background.” He dropped his hands. “Consider it, Drala’fa. You could see the galaxy. You would receive real training. You could get an implant and learn to utilize your biotics. You would have opportunities to fight in real battles. You could put that brilliant tactical mind to work. It does not have to be a permanent solution, but it would give you a firm start in adult life that you do not yet have.”

“The chance to take bad out of the world, hmm?” she mused.

“Precisely.”

The Alliance. She’d never considered that before. Could she handle something that rigid and formal? Could she afford not to try? It was the solution to all of her problems. It would give her opportunities she would otherwise have to struggle for. It would open doors. If he could create an identity for her that would hold, this could be the answer. If nothing else, she could serve for a few years, get the experience, and move on.

“That’s a good idea, Thane,” she said. “I’d be grateful for your help.”

“Give me two days,” he said.

 

* * *

 

“Katherine R. Shepherd,” she read, looking down at the new ID she held. “R for Red, I’m guessing?”

“I thought it appropriate,” Thane said. "I was informed that most humans have two given names.”

“And Katherine?” she asked. She’d allowed Thane to choose her name, though she’d joked that he should just call her Jane Doe since she was nobody. He hadn’t understood the joke and had almost taken her at her word until she’d explained to him that they'd used it in the orphanage because she didn't have a name. Then, he’d looked at her in horror and informed her that he absolutely was not going to give her a generic name.

“I wished to find something with meaning. Katherine has several. One is ‘pure.’” She snorted and he nodded. “I thought not. However, it also derives from earlier cultures and one of those captured my attention. The ancient Greek goddess Hecate was, among other things, the goddess of the crossroads and torture.”

“I like it,” she said. 

He gave her a small smile. “Were you aware that my name crosses species? Thane can be a derivative of Thanatos, which comes from the same language.”

“Kind of ties us together, then, yes?” she said. “I like it. You chose well. I think Kate will do just fine.”

“It is your name now, Drala’fa. Do with it what you will,” he said.

She perused the rest of the papers, reading through the history he’d concocted. He had kept the fiction close to the truth. Born in Chicago. April 11, 2154. She wasn’t exactly sure what year she’d been born, but that sounded close enough. Raised in the city. Parents recently deceased. One detail, however, caught her eye. “I went to _MIT_?” she asked.

“It is a technology school, is it not?” he asked. “The man who created these documents assured me that it would be believable.”

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s just…MIT has offered free courses via the internet, our internal version of the extranet, for more than a century. They don’t give degrees for it, of course, but they offer the classes. That’s how I learned to write that omni-tool program. I did every bit of the coursework on my own. I just…I never thought I would actually have the paper to back it up. I could never afford to attend there on my own. Thank you, Thane.”

“It has been my pleasure, Drala’fa,” he said. “I have sent updated contact information to your omni-tool. Please keep in touch via the extranet when you can.”

“I will,” she promised.

“And no more drugs.”

“No more drugs,” she said. The worst of the withdrawals had finally subsided. She now only had to deal with cravings. She thought she could handle those. She never wanted to go through that nightmare again. She took a step toward him and placed a hand below his frill. “You saved my life, Thane. I'm still not sure I'm happy about it, but you did. That deserves thanks, if for nothing more than getting me off the streets again.”

“Make it count, Drala’fa,” he said, bringing his hand up to cover hers. “Let no one forget you again.”

“I’m going to miss you,” she said.

“And I, you. If you ever have need of me, all you have to do is call. I will be there.”

“Don’t lose yourself, okay?” she said. “Don’t get so far into battle sleep that you forget who you are.”

“Goodbye, Drala’fa. Until we meet again.”

And then he was gone. Again.


	5. The Phoenix Is Born

Red snarled in frustration as she attempted to copy the asari’s motions with minimal results. A swirl of the hand. That’s all she had to do. How hard could it be? And yet, while her skin shimmered with the blue corona of dark energy, the gravity well she was trying to create refused to appear. She ignored the tingle around the implant and tried again with the same lack of results.

She’d arrived in Vancouver a month ago. Her implant had been installed two days after her arrival and she’d finally been released from the hospital. Training was slated to begin the following day, but she was the only one in her class who hadn’t had her implant since puberty. All of the others knew _something_ even if their techniques weren’t yet perfect. She was determined to be able to demonstrate at least one skill.

“Ensign? What are you doing?”

She closed the vid screen and then turned to find a young officer standing in the open doorway of her barracks room. At first glance, there was little about him that stood out. Average height. Lean build. Dark hair. A face that looked like it would turn angular with age, but still possessed some of the softness of youth. He was a Marine rather than Navy, but this was a joint operating base, so that wasn’t unique. Then, she met his eyes. ‘Brown’ was not an accurate descriptor. They were golden, like her favorite whiskey or—given the expression in them now—a bird of prey. The gold bar on his collar disappointed her libido. He outranked her, which probably meant he was an instructor. Off-limits.

She snapped to attention. “Sir, I was attempting to practice a singularity, sir.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered.

“Well, Ensign Shepherd,” he said in a voice that definitely reminded her of her favorite whiskey, “you should probably be glad you failed. A singularity in a space this small could have devastating results both for yourself and your bunk.”

“I didn’t know, sir,” she said. “I won’t do it again.”

“Why were you trying?” he asked.

“Sir, I’m the only one in my class without experience. I wanted to catch up, sir.”

He sighed. “Come with me, Ensign.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

She followed him from the room. He led her down a flight of stairs to a large, empty classroom on the floor below. The walls were lined with mirrors, making the room resemble a dance studio, but they lacked the barre across the center. He motioned for her to stand in front of one of them and moved into position beside her. He activated his omni-tool and scanned it for something before closing it again and catching her eyes in the mirror.

“You’re trying to run before you can walk, Ensign. The first thing you need to learn is to control your nervous system. That’s a lengthy process that’s going to fill most of your training time here, but it’s vital if you want to develop true control. You’re listed as a vanguard, which means you’re wasting your time trying to learn a singularity. You don’t have nodules in the proper arrangement to form one. Only adepts can create those. That said, there is one skill that most biotics discover by accident as children even before they receive their amp. Barriers are the simplest skill to develop because defending oneself is an instinctive response. It doesn’t even require mnemonics.”

Red listened as he described the process for calling up a barrier. Activating all of one’s eezo nodules at once sounded difficult and draining on the surface, but he explained that it was much easier than controlling individual nodules in particular patterns. The body’s default was a binary response. The fact that she’d been able to create a corona meant that she had enough conscious control to activate them at will.

“Is it supposed to hurt, sir?” she asked when the price for a wavering, uneven barrier was a sharp zap across the back of her skull.

His eyes sharpened. “Where?” he demanded.

“It feels like my implant is shocking me,” she answered.

“Turn,” he ordered. She obeyed. “I’m going to touch your amp. Try not to move. This may be uncomfortable. You’ll get used to it.”

“Is something wrong with it?” she asked, trying not to tense as he brushed her hair aside to expose the amp port. Choosing to touch people was one thing. Having a stranger touch her was another. She’d had enough experience with others touching her to last a lifetime. She’d sold her body because she had no other options, not because she’d wanted their hands on her. She was never going to give another person agency over her body again. She’d starve first.

“It’s loose,” he said. “Learning to properly insert them takes time. You’ll want your roommate or someone to help you in the beginning. Deep inhale.” She breathed in and felt his calloused fingers come to rest on either side of her implant. His touch, thankfully, was impersonal. “Slow exhale.” She breathed out. At the culmination of the breath, he popped the amp into place. Electricity zinged across her nerves and her jaw felt as if she’d bitten down on a sheet of metal.

“Aagh,” she groaned, stretching her jaw and bringing a hand up to feel along the port. “That’s unpleasant. I have to do that every day?”

“For a few weeks, yes,” he said. “You’ll need to take it out every evening to give your implant time to fully integrate and your system a chance to rest. Once you’re used to it, though, you can leave it in most of the time. Try the barrier again and tell me how it feels.”

“Oh, wow,” she said, looking at herself in the mirror. Her body was wreathed in a steady blue corona that rippled across her skin like lightning. She felt a barely-discernable buzz from her amp, but the pain had downgraded to odd sensation. She could handle that.

Lieutenant Alenko reached into his pocket and withdrew something, but she couldn’t see what it was. He flicked it at her. The marble bounced harmlessly off of the layer of dark energy and rolled across the floor. She grinned and he said, “Congratulations, Ensign. You now have a barrier. Don’t expect it to stop a slug any time soon and it’ll take practice to hold it for more than a few minutes, but you’re no longer a complete FNG.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, allowing the barrier to fade. “Earlier, you called me a vanguard. What’s the difference?”

“True adepts rely most heavily on their biotic skill,” he said. “Vanguards combine biotics with combat techniques, generally in close quarters. Your records state that you’re proficient in a wide variety of weapons. That’s good. Most vanguards are quite a bit stockier than you are, but you can learn to turn your size to your advantage.”

“Are you a vanguard, sir?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “I’m a sentinel. Biotics and tech.” He chuckled. “Don’t get me started on that or you’ll miss chow. You’ll report here with your class tomorrow at 0700. I’ll see you then, Ensign.”

Her roommate was a brash, overconfident young adept from the colony of Ferris Fields named Essex. By the time she left for chow, she was ready to request a transfer. She’d have found him attractive if not for his unending flirtation and utter inability to take anything seriously. She ground her teeth together hard enough to make her healing implant protest.

“I mean, come on, Shep,” he said as they walked down the hall to the mess. “I’m not saying I’m a biotic god or anything, but I won’t complain if _you_ want to. You wouldn’t be the first girl to call me God.”

She was going to kill him. Training hadn’t even started yet and she was going to get kicked out for murder. She tried to tone him out as she snatched a tray from the stack and moved down the line. Bored-looking soldiers listlessly plopped mounds of things she wasn’t sure even they could identify onto her tray. Essex cringed, but Red had spent her entire life eating what was put in front of her. Food was sustenance, not something she actively enjoyed. She had a cast iron stomach. Give her a little hot sauce and she could eat the belly of an elcor. At least it wasn’t soup.

“What’s wrong, Essex?” she taunted when his face turned as gray as the mush one of the soldiers glopped on his plate. “Lost your appetite?”

“We’re supposed to eat this shit?” he asked. If she was just another soldier, she’d commiserate. She wasn’t. So, she let the guy behind him pick up the bitching and took the opportunity to walk away.

The mess hall was identical to the one at OCS, and she imagined, everywhere else in the military. A long room lined with rows of tables at which soldiers sat shoulder to shoulder. In OCS, biotics ate separately from the rest because their caloric requirements garnered them an exemption from strictly-timed meals. They received almost double the rations of non-biotics and were granted more than twice the amount of time to eat. Here, chow was an hour. There were no drill sergeants shouting at them to hurry up. No one hassled them as long as they were eating rather than fucking off. It was silent but for the sound of utensils striking platters and the rustle of uniforms.

She found a seat at a table that was still empty and took it. A few people cast curious looks in her direction, but she ignored them. Let them stare. If it meant she could eat in peace, she was fine with it. She swallowed her food without taking the time to chew or taste. The quicker she ate, the faster she could get out of the crowded mess hall. Unfortunately, going back to the barracks would mean being trapped in a room with Essex. She really might kill him.

* * *

 

“Today, you will learn which of the biotic abilities for your class that your individual physiology is most suited to. You will not be equally adept—forgive the pun—at every skill in your class even if you possess the capacity to perform it. You _can_ improve even a poor ability with time and dedication, but our job is not to provide you with an arsenal of half-developed abilities. Our job is to refine the ones you excel at into tools of destruction.”

Captain Henley, the head instructor, paced the front of the classroom with his hands at his sides. The briefing and its delivery rolled off his tongue like he’d given it a thousand times. His piercing gray eyes scanned the room, looking at each of them in turn. They stood at parade rest and listened eagerly. After weeks of lectures and biofeedback therapy and dry mnemonics drills, they were finally going to be allowed to put it all together.

“Adepts A through M, you’ll be with me. N through Z, with Lieutenant Shields. Sentinels, with Lieutenant Alenko. Shepherd, as you’re the only vanguard this cycle, you’ll go with the sentinels this morning and you’ll report to Commander Thompson after chow.”

“Aye aye, sir,” they said together.

“Fall out,” he ordered.

Red followed the sentinels to Alenko’s side of the room. There were far more adepts than the rest of them. She didn’t know if that was normal or just this cycle. There were only five sentinels, so they formed a half circle around Alenko and waited for him to begin. She could hear Essex across the room, running his mouth again. He even talked in his sleep. It was a testament to her self-control that she hadn’t killed him yet. She’d spent more nights than she wanted to admit plotting his death. And if they failed inspection one more time because of his slovenly ways, she was going to torture him before she killed him. She smirked when Henley snapped at him to shut up.

Alenko said, “This afternoon, I’ll be demonstrating ways to utilize your tech capabilities in conjunction with your biotics, but this morning, we’re going to focus solely on the latter. Sentinels and vanguards don’t have the wide array of options that adepts do and sentinels are the most limited of the three, but that doesn’t mean you’re useless. Everyone can learn a barrier. Everyone can lift, throw, and warp. Sentinels, you can also learn stasis. Shepherd, vanguards are capable of charging, novas, shockwave, and pull. In addition, there are certain other advanced skills that any of you can learn if you find someone proficient in it to teach you.”

“Vanguard sounds like a hell of a lot more fun,” Ensign Clay, a willowy blonde, groused.

Alenko grinned. “Yeah, but they don’t have this.” He tapped his omni-tool and a glowing suit of tech armor surrounded his barrier. “They also aren’t fitted with omni-tools that can overload, decrypt, or issue a cryo blast. The types of tech attacks you have access to will depend on the tool you have. Their functionality is limited for the time being, but tech experts are creating new systems every day.”

He caught himself and Shepherd suppressed an involuntary grin. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her that first day that she’d miss chow if he started talking tech. He could discuss it for _hours_. She appreciated that about him and had wondered more than once what he would think of her omni-tool program. He was an L2, so couldn’t use her amp software, but the bug reports she’d received from Thane before she’d forgotten about it had made her wonder if the L3 could handle it or if the hardware needed to be upgraded as well. She would bet her last credit he could look at it and give her an answer.

“For now, though,” he continued, “we’re going to work on the biotic skills everyone has in common. You’ve already learned the mnemonics for each. I’ll take you individually to the target in the corner and you’ll demonstrate a single skill at a time. You will rotate out between each practice and I expect you to drink your juice. Creating these effects is incredibly draining until you’re accustomed to it. Clay, you’re up.”

The other four huddled together and spoke quietly among themselves. Red stood off to the side where she could watch Alenko work with the other Sentinel. He was a good teacher, but his mannerisms stood out from the other instructors she’d had so far. He was more personable, patient, slower to anger, and less likely to snap at them for the sake of it. If Alenko raised his voice, there was a reason. For all his easygoing demeanor, though, he wasn’t a pushover. He still commanded the respect of his students, especially the females. She couldn’t deny that he was easy on the eyes, but she tried to ignore it. There was no way in hell she was going to risk people saying she’d climbed the ranks on her back and she fully intended to climb the damn ranks.

She paid close attention to his instructions to the others, but when her turn came, he told her to forget what he’d shown them. “Even among skills that all biotics are capable of, each class has slight differences in the execution due to the pattern of our eezo nodules. Where a sentinel will flex the hand to throw, a vanguard keeps it flat. It’s a sharper motion. We push the energy from our palms. You want to slash it from the blade of your hand. Your nodules are roughly here and here.” He pointed to the dip of her wrist and the slim pad of muscle below her pinkie but refrained from touching her. “Demonstrate your mnemonic slowly.”

She replicated the motion she’d practiced without activating her biotics. He made slight adjustments to her technique and then said, “Now, with purpose. Move the block to the end of the table. Remember your biofeedback.”

She visualized her amp activating and directing her biotics through the points in her body that would create a throw field. As she did so, she felt the tingle of dark energy flow from the port in her skull to the base of her neck, down her arm, and out the side of her hand. Her body glowed in response and when she slashed her hand in the direction of the block, it tumbled halfway across the table. Her eyes widened. “It moved!”

“Good,” he said, returning the block to its original position. “A little more force this time. Get it all the way to the end.” She repeated her visualization technique and threw her hand out. The block flew across the room and smacked into the mirror. Had it been solid rather than foam, she was certain the glass would have cracked. Alenko laughed. “Just like a vanguard. Brute force before finesse. Try again. A little _less_ this time.”

It took her three more tries, but the block finally came to rest teetering on the edge of the table. “I did it!” she said.

“Good job, Shepherd,” he said. “I’d say we can mark that down as one of your skills. We’ll see how you do with warp in a few minutes. Return to the group and don’t forget your juice.”


	6. Building a Better Psychopath

By the time they broke for lunch, she’d learned that she couldn’t lift anything heavier than a paper bag, but she could warp steel. After chow, she found Commander Thompson in a different classroom. This one was longer than the first and rather than mirrored walls, these were padded. “Welcome to vanguard training, Ensign Shepherd” she said. “Since it’s just us, this should go quickly. Let me know if you need to rest. Don’t push too hard and fry your amp trying to keep up with me. We’ll take it at your pace.”

She couldn’t pull any better than she could lift and her shockwave—which used the same mnemonic as a sentinel’s throw—was pitiful. When she tried to nova, her barrier discharged unevenly and it backwashed onto her, knocking her to the floor. Thompson shook her head and asked, “Are you sure you’re a vanguard, soldier?”

“That’s what my profile says, ma’am,” she answered.

Thompson sighed. “All right. We’re going to try a new one and you’ll see why the walls are padded. Unlike the rest, this one moves through your feet. This is a somewhat more advanced skill and you won’t have practiced the mnemonic yet. I generally don’t teach it to new vanguards, but if I don’t, you might as well swap out your omni-tool and call yourself a sentinel. The skills you do have are unbelievably strong, but the number of them is concerning. Most vanguards have a wider range to choose from.”

“I did only receive my implant a couple of months ago,” Red pointed out. “Could that be contributing?”

“I doubt it,” Thompson said. “You’re just _very_ specialized. I hope. Start with your feet square and then shift your weight to your dominant foot and slide the other back half a step.” She demonstrated the stance and Red copied it, sliding her right foot back. “This’ll be more comfortable with a weapon, but we’ll add that in later if you can even do this one. I want you to send the energy down to your trailing foot and into the heel. When you feel it pool, slam your heel to the floor and simultaneously push the energy out from your entire body in the direction you want to move. Don’t worry about your barrier for now. If you do it right, you should do…” Red blinked and Thompson was no longer beside her. Instead, she was standing in the corner with her barrier shimmering around her. “This.”

“Charge,” Red realized. “That’s a charge, right, ma’am?”

“Correct.” Thompson rejoined her in the center of the room. “When you’re ready, Ensign.”

Red ran through her visualization technique twice since she wasn’t as familiar with the pattern in her lower body yet. The first time, she made a passive image. The second, she activated her biotics and felt them flow through her, leaving a pleasant warmth in their wake. Dark energy pooled in her heel. She slammed her foot down and _pushed_. An instant later, she slammed into the wall across the room. She staggered back, shaking her head. Even with the padding, that had hurt. It was _awesome_! She turned to face Thompson. “May I do that again, ma’am?”

“Holy shit,” the instructor breathed. “I’ve never seen anyone pick that up that fast. Guess you are a vanguard, after all. One more, Ensign, and then we’re taking a break. Charge is a very energy-intensive move to learn.” With that, Thompson moved out of her way and gestured for her to go.

Red readied herself and then, with a grin, completed the mnemonics. This time, she was more prepared and was able to register the way the room seemed to bend. She wasn’t sure if she was moving across the space or if it was moving around her. Before she could decide, she hit the wall with a thud that shook the room. She felt her nose pop and warm fluid gushed over her lips.

“Tomorrow, I’ll teach you how to stop,” Thompson said. Red thought she heard amusement in the woman’s voice, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t be certain. The instructor motioned for her to tip her head back and passed her a stack of gauze she’d retrieved from the first aid kit in the corner. Red pressed it up to her bleeding nose. “Report to sick call. Get that fixed. I want you here at 0600.”

“Aye aye, ma’am,” Red said in a muffled voice.

Despite the pain in her face, she left the training room with a spring in her step. In addition to her barrier, she could throw, warp, and she could _charge_. What a rush! That alone made joining the Alliance worth it. She pictured herself darting around the battlefield; there one instant and gone the next. She was a far cry from the girl who’d once begged an alien assassin to teach her to shoot a rifle so that she didn’t feel worthless in a fight. Imagine the terror she could have stricken in her enemies’ hearts if she’d been able to do this six years ago. _No one_ would have challenged her.

___

“Essex, I swear to Christ if you don’t pick this shit up, I’m trashing all of it,” Red said as her roommate dashed into their barracks room. “Alenko is going to be here any minute.”

“Too late,” he said, coming to a stiff parade rest in front of the foot of his bunk and kicking a pair of socks under the bed. “He’s finishing up next door.”

“If we fail again, your ass is mine,” she hissed between her teeth.

“You could help, you know,” he whispered.

“I’m not your damn maid,” she ground out. Alenko appeared in the doorway. “Officer on deck!” she announced, shifting to attention.

Alenko’s hawk eyes slid over the room and his mouth tightened. _Shit._ Alenko was a stickler for regulations. He wasn’t going to let this slide. She was going to kill Essex. He went to Red’s side of the room first. For her, he drew out his ruler and measured the corner creases of her sheets, the arrangement of items in her foot locker, and the placement of insignia on her dress uniform. When he was satisfied, he donned a pair of white gloves. She swallowed hard as fire pooled in her belly. Damn, he was a beautiful man, especially in those damn gloves. He ran a fingertip over the surfaces of her side of the room, occasionally checking the glove to ensure that it was still pristine. She didn’t bother to look. There wasn’t a mote of dust on _her_ side.

He tucked the glove back into his pocket without speaking and turned to Essex’ side. There was no need for a ruler. A glance was all that was required to know that it was wrong. Clothes littered the floor. The corner of his bed dangled untucked from the frame. His wall locker was a chaotic mess. Alenko shook his head and walked into the bathroom. When he returned, his golden eyes were blazing.

“There is _toothpaste_ leaking on the sink from a tube with _your_ name on it! Did you even try, Ensign?” he demanded, coming to stand close enough to Essex that the young adept’s biotics flickered in response.

“Sir, no, sir,” Essex answered. At least he was honest.

“Why not?” Alenko asked sharply. “Do you think protocols apply to everyone but you? Should the Alliance alter itself to accommodate you, snowflake?”

“Sir, no, sir,” Essex answered.

“Then why is this your second failed inspection, Ensign? Enlighten me about what’s going on in that head of yours because I am beginning to think the Alliance neglected to issue you a brain!”

“Sir, I was helping Monica—Ensign Stevens—with her singularity. If she doesn’t have it down by tomorrow, she’s out of the program. If we fail inspection today, we only get demerits, sir,” Essex answered.

 _Stupid,_  Red thought. _Helping Monica, my ass. Helping Monica out of her clothes is more likely._ If they failed again, they would get recycled. And if she had to start all over because her roommate was too busy chasing tail to do what needed to be done, she really would kill him. Even if he was helping Stevens, that’s what the instructors were for. Red shouldn’t have to pay for Stevens’ inability to learn and unwillingness to seek out extra training. If she’d wanted it badly enough, she’d have asked for extra time. Henley would give it to her. It wasn’t Essex’ responsibility.

Alenko turned his attention to Red. “Shepherd, mind telling me why you didn’t help your buddy out?”

“Sir, he didn’t ask, sir,” she answered.

Three strides brought Alenko into her space and now it was _her_ barrier reacting to his nearness. That hadn’t happened before. No other biotics had gotten close enough to her since it had become second-nature to keep the barrier in reserve for it to occur. She could feel his energy crackling at the edges of it. Their lessons had stated that with practice, most biotics could learn to differentiate between the unique ‘flavor’ of individuals’ biotic fields and at the very least, could identify another biotic’s class upon contact, but she’d never experienced it for herself. She had the thought that she would be able to tell Alenko apart from others even if that was the only sense she had available to her. It _felt_ like him. Warm. Steady. Powerful. Safe? She fought the urge to snort. There was no such thing. Comfortable. That was it. He was comfortable. A result of familiarity with him. Nothing more.

“Ensign Essex is your battle buddy, Ensign Shepherd,” Alenko said in a low voice that was more threatening than if he’d shouted. “Should your battle buddy have to _ask_ for your help? If you’re in the field and you see the enemy flanking him, are you going to wait for him to _ask_ you to take out the enemy?”

“Sir, of course not, sir,” she said. That would be hard to explain in a report.

“Then why did you leave your battle buddy hanging in the breeze today, Shepherd?”

“Sir, with all due respect, I’m not his mother. It isn’t my job to pick up his underwear, sir,” she answered.

“So you were willing to accept a failed inspection to, what, teach him a lesson?” Alenko asked incredulously. “Essex, go stand in the hallway. Leave the door open.”

When Essex vacated the room, Alenko stepped back from her. “At ease. Shepherd, I don’t think you’re grasping the concept we’re trying to teach here. No one functions independently in the Alliance. To borrow from a tired cliché, a chain does not consist of individual links separate from each other. It exists only when each link works together with the rest. You are useless to us if you refuse to cooperate with your teammates. You don’t sit with the other students at chow. You have no friends here. You would rather fail on your own than succeed together. You’re a fantastic biotic, but you’re going to fail this course if you don’t get it together. What’s the hang-up here?”

“Sir, permission to speak freely, sir?” she asked. He nodded. “I don’t work well with others. I don’t _want_ to make friends. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

“This isn’t about what you want, Shepherd,” he said. “You don’t have to make friends. I can’t force you to do that. You do, however, have to work cooperatively with your colleagues. You don’t want to go for a beer or catch a game with the others? You don’t have to. But when it comes to things like making sure your buddy passes inspection along with you, you do.”

He sighed. “I’ve tried to be patient with you. I’ve hoped you’d warm up to the others once you caught up to them. But you’re surpassing them in training and yet I haven’t seen you help another student the way Essex is doing with Stevens. I haven’t seen you say more than three words to someone unless you were ordered to do so. You’re an officer. You’re training to be a leader, but no one is going to follow you if they feel like little more than tools at best and inconveniences at worst.”

Red grimaced. “Sir…the last time I was in charge of people…it didn’t end well. I’m a terrible leader.”

“I doubt that,” he said. “You just need to work on it.”

“How, sir?” she asked.

He said, “A good leader takes care of their people. You put their needs ahead of your own. You don’t have to like them. You don’t have to be friends with them, but you do have to _know_ them. You need to know their strength and weaknesses, their backgrounds, their mentalities and personalities. You don’t have to reciprocate if you don’t want to, but you do need to _listen_ to them.”

She didn’t want to get to know these people. She didn't give a shit about them. Anyone who wasn't Thane or herself meant nothing to her. They were simply bodies that populated her space and happened to interact with her on occasion. There had to be a way to do what Alenko suggested without allowing them to learn anything about her in return. Her past was her own. It didn't belong to them. She did, however, want to succeed. The Alliance was her ticket out of the life she'd led. She wouldn't allow herself to fail. She _would_ become a leader people followed because she had no interest in being a follower herself.

He continued, “I’m giving you a couple of assignments. First, by the end of the week, I want you to tell me five things about every person in this class. And not easily observable things. Essex is an adept who can’t keep his room clean doesn’t count. _Talk_ to them. Second, you are to sit with your classmates at chow at least two meals per day. Third, you and Essex are going to do everything together. Unless you are in the head or sleeping, you’re joined at the hip. If he’s studying, you’re studying. If you’re cleaning, he’s cleaning. If he’s working with Stevens, you’re there. Find things that he is good at and delegate your part in them to him. In exchange, clean this damn room. Fail another inspection and you aren’t recycled. You’re out.”

“Aye aye, sir,” she said, grinding her teeth together.

___

By Friday, Shepherd had developed a system that she thought would allow her to fulfill Alenko’s assignment without opening herself in return. She repeated each new thing she learned about the other students to herself, turning learning about them into a memorization game. She treated the information the same way she would something gleaned from a textbook. She discovered that if she arranged her features and body language to appear interested and sympathetic, they assumed she was genuine and opened up to her. The more they opened up and felt accepted, the more receptive they were to her ideas and suggestions.

Essex was more difficult. She actively disliked him and resented being forced to help him. But, because Alenko had ordered her to and she respected Alenko, she did it. She taught him how to do laundry. She drilled him on rolling his clothing until it fit within the proscribed space in his wall locker. She made his bunk and pinned the sheets into place—a trick she’d learned in OCS—because he simply could not get the corners right. In return, he taught her how to care for her implant. He showed her a number of techniques to make inserting and removing her amp more pleasant. He instructed her on the different types and their benefits and drawbacks. Most biotics learned these things as children, but no one had thought to teach her the very basics, seemingly forgetting that she hadn’t had it installed at puberty like the rest of them. She eventually decided that she probably wouldn’t kill him before school was over. He was more useful than she'd believed.

Alenko gestured for her to stay after class was dismissed on Friday. When he put them at ease, Essex hopped up on a table on the far side of the room and pulled a lollipop from his pocket. One of the things she’d learned for her list was that he was trying to quit smoking and used the lollipops as a substitute. Alenko gestured to the adept. “You two seem to be getting along better. I checked your bunks while you were at chow. Much better. I’ll let the trick with the pins slide.”

“I appreciate that, sir,” she said, feeling a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. “I doubt a tidy bunk is ever in the cards for him.”

“I got your list this morning,” he said. “Good work. And I’ve noticed that you’ve been going out of your way to engage with others and help out your fellow students. I’m proud, Shepherd.”

She told herself the warmth she felt at his words wasn’t because they came from _him_ but because she’d succeeded in her goal. The last thing she needed was a childish crush on her instructor. She ruthlessly tamped it down and said, “Thank you, sir.”

She was already in too deep when it came to caring about Thane. If he died, it would hurt her no matter what. Hell, it might be enough to destroy her. Knowing he was out there somewhere, living his life, meant that she wasn’t utterly alone in the galaxy. It was worth the risk and too late even if it wasn’t. She’d cared about him since she was a child. She didn’t need anyone else in that space. Alenko was hot. She’d fuck him into next week if he wasn’t her commanding officer. That was all there was. That was all there would ever be.


	7. The Renegade War Hero

Red sat in a corner of the closest thing to a dive bar she could find on Elysium and swirled her whiskey in a glass that was too clean for her type of place. She tried to avoid bars frequented by other soldiers. She preferred to drink alone. Military bars were not conducive to that. Unfortunately, Elysium was a posh colony and all of the smaller establishments that catered to the locals were far too upscale for her tastes. That also meant she was probably going home alone tonight. She didn’t hook up with soldiers. Beyond the fraternization regs—which were actually a lot laxer than most people realized if one actually read the rules with a mind for loopholes—it was just a bad idea to mix business with pleasure. The guy she took home tonight might transfer into her squad next week. Civilians wouldn't be an option if she was looking for a relationship, but they were a smarter choice for a little bit of fun.

She was distracted from her thoughts when the colony’s emergency sirens began screaming. Her omni-tool pinged with a colony-wide alert. **WARNING. PERIMETER BREACH. ALL SECTORS. ALL SECURITY PERSONNEL REPORT TO E-Sec HQ IMMEDIATELY.**  She dismissed the warning and called up a report of comm buoy activity in the region. The rate at which they were going dark gave her an idea of the size of the force. Raiders were common in this area and the colony would be prepared under normal circumstances, but this looked like an entire fleet rather than a handful of ships. They were going to need backup. Her omni-tool pinged again, this time with a message.

 **TO:**  Lt.KRShepherd@ssvtrafalgar.xnet  
**FROM:**  Radm.Hackett@ssvkilimanjaro.xnet  
**DATE:**  04.11.2176  
**SUBJECT:**  Elysium  
Lieutenant Shepherd,  
We’ve received word of suspicious activity in your area. Comm systems are going dark in a progressive pattern. Target predicted to be Elysium. We suspect batarian raiders. Help is on its way. Can you hold out for a few hours?  
Hackett  

She typed out an affirmative and strode over to a group of wide-eyed young marines who stood and saluted her. She shook her head and said, “No time for formalities. I need you to come with me.” She sincerely hoped they were sober. Once they were out of the bar, she led them toward Illyria’s security headquarters. “There’s an incoming attack on the colony. They’re disabling comm buoys in the system, so we need to assume it’s a large force. How many of you are there total?”

“Eleven, ma’am,” one answered. 

“Get your buddies. I want every Alliance soldier on this colony ready to go. Do you have weapons or armor?” she asked as she broke into a jog.

“No, ma’am. We left them on the ship,” another answered.

“Shit. All right. Call your friends and come with me,” she said. She strode purposefully into the security headquarters, grateful that she hadn’t thought to remove her uniform. She normally would have changed into civilian clothes for the sake of image, but it wasn’t uncommon to see soldiers drinking at that particular bar in uniform. When the receptionist at the front looked up and saw them, her eyes widened and she stood. Red said, “I need to speak with your executor immediately.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the receptionist answered.

A few minutes later, a burly man in a uniform that told her he sat behind a desk with eyes that told her he hadn’t always done so introduced himself as Executor Erickson and called her into his office. She explained the situation and showed him the message from Hackett. He put in a call to the governor and then nodded and said, “We have a hundred officers on duty and another two hundred off duty that I can call in. You may have full access to our armory. You’re Alliance, so you’re better trained than any of my men and probably than I myself am. We’ll follow your lead, Lieutenant. The governor has authorized you to utilize whatever resources you need and is alerting the other major cities.”

As he spoke, he called up a holographic map of the city. It showed not only the locations of streets and buildings but also the city’s defenses. Pirate raids were nothing new here. The colony was prepared, though she wasn’t certain that they were ready for a raid large enough to require Hackett to send in the fleet. Elysium was equipped with mobile planetary defense cannons. The cities were walled and had mounted turrets that could be activated in case of attack. In addition, there was a bunker in the center of each city that could house the majority of the population in case of orbital strikes and most houses had safe rooms in them. The hospital was able to be locked down as well. As far as defensible locations went, she’d certainly seen worse.

“Spread the word while we still can,” she said. “This is our command center. Activate your planetary defense cannons. Evacuate all non-combatants to the bunkers, but anyone who can fight needs to do so.” Civilian casualties would be high, but this was their colony. It was up to them to defend it. If they weren’t willing to do that, they needed to go somewhere far from the Terminus. “I want men on each of these turrets. Get engineers with combat drones on the walls as well. I need a comm specialist in each sector so that we can coordinate information and relay instructions. Alert the hospitals to prepare for casualties. If they have anyone trained as a combat medic, send them to us.”

“I’ll get it done, Lieutenant,” Erickson said as the receptionist led in another group of soldiers.

She gestured to the map as she evaluated the marines. “We have twelve sectors and eleven officers. Which one is the weakest?”

“Sector two,” he said immediately. “We had a raid a few months back and are still rebuilding our fortifications.”

She said, “I’m on sector two, then. Each of you take a sector. Erickson, I want your best man on the strongest sector you’ve got. I don’t know how your people are trained, so I need it to be someone who can work independently if need be and isn’t going to back down from a fight.”

“Sergeant Jarvis,” he said. “He used to work for Admiral Grissom. I’ll get him.”

“Is Admiral Grissom here?” she asked. “We could sure use him right about now.”

“No,” he said. “He went to the Academy last week. Isn’t due back for two more.”

“Damn. All right. Get Jarvis. Now, if they manage to breach our defenses, I want fallback locations here, here, and here.”

They continued planning until the receptionist came into the office. “Executor, sir?” she said in a high voice. “We’ve got reports of incoming ships. They look like pirates and slavers.”

“How many?” Red asked.

“Hundreds, thousands, I don’t know,” she answered. “The reports are confused. A lot. A lot more than we’ve ever seen before. And it looks like they're all coming here.”

"All of them?" Erickson asked. "They aren't heading for the other cities?"

"No, sir. Not according to their current trajectories," she said with a waver in her tone.

Red nodded. “You’ve got your assignments. Go. Defend the colony.”

___

“I need a turret there and there!” Red shouted as she ran toward a breach in the barricade.

“On it, Lieutenant!” shouted the wide-eyed engineer whom she didn’t think had been out of training for more than a month. He was as wet behind the ears as they came. His hands shook so hard he fumbled the first turret three times.

“What’s your name, Private?” she asked the marine as she stepped between him and the incoming pirates. Fucking batarians. At least she finally had a challenge.

“D—D—Davis, ma’am,” he answered in a trembling voice.

“You’re doing just fine, Davis,” she said, turning to fire on a group of batarians who were trying to rush the break in the wall. She needed him to stay calm. The situation had been jacked up from the get-go, but was now completely FUBAR. A colony full of civilians who’d broken when the batarians had come pouring through the walls. All of the soldiers on leave but herself, Private Davis, and the Alliance doctor currently trying to patch up the injured civilians were dead. There were thousands upon thousands of batarians. They spread like a solid wave as far as she could see. “Get that second turret up for me, all right? Don’t worry about these assholes. I’ve got this.” She just _had_  to end up with the FNG with zero combat experience.  

Once the turrets were activated, she ducked back behind the wall with Davis to think. The planetary defense cannons were down. The wall mounted turrets had run out of ammunition because she had lost her runners. Erickson had gone silent. She didn’t have time to get back to the security HQ. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said that this sector had been damaged. It had been the obvious place to launch the brunt of their attack and they had done so. The officers she’d assigned to lead the other teams had twenty-five trained men and a handful of colonists apiece against hundreds. Once the batarians had gotten over the walls in those areas, they’d gone down quickly. Now, she was at the last fallback location with the hospital on one side and the bunker on the other. They had hastily erected barricades at either end that would do little to stop an enemy that had already managed to get past the walls.

“Ma’am?” Davis said. “I can send out some combat drones if you think it would help.”

“Do it,” she said and peered over the barricade. Batarians were swarming down the street toward the breach. She estimated a hundred with more coming from the sky every minute. She was bristling with anticipation. After the near-constant activity of the Reds, the Alliance had failed to fully engage her. She'd been involved in some minor altercations, but nothing of this magnitude. This was why she'd joined in the first place. She'd honed the weapon Thane had given her and was more than ready to loose it on her enemies. This was her opportunity to take bad things from the world and oh, but there were so many to take.

Davis activated his omni-tool. A pair of drones appeared and flew down the street. The hospital door opened. The Alliance doctor, an unflappable British-woman with a silver bob, ran out and ducked behind the barricade. “Lieutenant, I’ve brought you more medigel, water, and ration bars. When you take care of this wave, I’ve got someone who might be able to help. I’m not sure if you’ll want to use her, but right now I don’t think we can afford to overlook any advantage.”

“All right, Doc,” Red said. “I’ll let you know when it’s clear. Get back in there.”

The doctor peered over the barricade and then back at Red. “I’m a soldier, too, you know. I can fight.”

“I need you in the hospital more than I need you out here. If you go down, I have no one to come after Davis and me if we fall. Get back in there,” Red ordered.

When the doctor was away, Red pulled herself to her feet once more. As ready as her mind was, her body was exhausted. She’d been fighting for hours. She didn’t know how many and didn't care to look. The Alliance would be here when they got here. She would hold until then. Her shoulder ached from the steady kick of the assault rifle. Her arms trembled under its weight. It was lighter than her sniper rifle, but after firing constantly for hours, her muscles were heavy and numb. She was going to feel this tomorrow. She fired in time with the turrets and watched the bodies pile up. She hadn’t rested for more than a minute since this had begun.

Davis held the canteen up to her lips when she ducked back into cover. She took a long pull through the straw. He ripped open a packet and placed it between her teeth. She kept it there, sucking the nutrigel out of the packet as she stood and fired again. The drones flashed out and were replaced by new ones. She spat the empty packet on the ground. “What I wouldn't give for a rocket launcher,” she muttered as more came around the back side of the bunker. Davis moved to set up another turret on the walls behind them. Fortunately, that group was small and Davis held them off. Maybe he wasn’t completely worthless after all. If he survived this, she was recommending him for a promotion.

Too bad neither of them were likely to see the end, she thought with a mental shrug. It didn't matter. Let them come. She was ready. She'd been ready for years. Anticipation coiled in her core. She didn't bother analyzing it. That didn't matter, either. All that mattered was the clatter of her assault rifle, the hum and crash of her biotics, the screams of the enemy. She would complete the mission or die trying. Either outcome was acceptable to her.

She ducked back down as her weapon began to whine from overheating. “How you holding up, Davis?” she asked.

“I’m all right, ma’am,” he called out over the whir of the turrets beside her. “We’re clear to your six.”

“Good job, soldier. Now get over here and give me a hand. I need something to shore up this barricade.” The weapon cooled, so she stood and fired again.

“I have an idea about that, ma’am,” he said as he slid into place beside her and began to fire his own rifle. She listened as he outlined his idea and said, “Do it. I’ll hold them off.”

So far, none of the batarians had managed to reach the barricade. That would change when they ran out of turrets. That time was coming soon, she noted with a sideways glance to the stack of portables that Davis had brought out. She was doing her best to conserve them, but the pirates had gotten smart. She heard a high-pitched whistle and shouted, “Incoming!” as she ducked and covered her head.

“Never fucking again,” she muttered as one of the turrets exploded from the rocket, “never again am I leaving my own goddamn gear behind.” None of the helmets fit, so her head was unprotected but for her barrier, which had now flickered and died from absorbing the blast. She waited for her amp to recharge before standing up again to fire on the batarian holding the launcher. Davis stopped what he was doing and set up a new turret before running back with his head down.

A few minutes later—at least, she thought it was a few minutes, but time had ceased to exist—he returned. She covered him as he began to throw heavy rolls of concertina wire over the barrier. When he’d placed all of it, he strung a strand between the barricade itself and one of the buildings and then ran back for the portable generator. She continued to fire on the aliens as he hooked the razor wire into the generator and it began to hum. “Got it!” he shouted triumphantly. “They get close to that wire and they’ll be fried!”

“Good work!” she praised, sparing a grin for him. She liked how the kid thought. He was brutal. The thrill of the hunt began to sing in her veins. With this, they stood a chance. She might be tethered and unable to charge without risk of being swarmed, but they would regret coming within range of her leash. A primal glee spread through her at the thought of the batarians writhing on the electrified razor wire. They would die screaming. When he didn't move fast enough to satisfy her, she shouted, "I need that other side done most motherfucking ricky-tick, Private!"

“Aye aye, ma’am!” he called back.

“I’m buying at the bar tonight, Davis!” she told him when she heard the hum repeated behind her. “Davis?” No answer. She ducked into cover and looked behind her. Davis was lying on the ground in a pool of blood. She couldn’t see an enemy. That meant there was a sniper. She wished for her Viper as she scanned rooftops and windows. There! Idiot four-eyed freak. He was too close. He'd regret that. She lined up the assault rifle like it was a sniper rifle and fired. He fell out the window. She didn’t bother going to Davis. Medigel couldn’t fix a hole in the head.

Another look over the barricade told her that the batarians had figured out the wire and were trying to come up with a plan. She had a minute but only one. “Chakwas!”

The door opened and the doctor crept out before running to her. She shook her head at the sight of Davis on the ground. “What a waste. Kelsea! Come on. It’s safe.”

The door opened again. A teenage girl ran out and crouched beside them. Her hands trembled, but there was something in her eyes that reminded Red of herself. She nodded at the girl and ripped into another nutrigel packet. Kelsea said, “I know a way to the security headquarters. I can get there without being seen. My dad’s the executor.”

“I can’t leave this position,” Red said.

“I can. Tell me what you need and I’ll go get it,” the girl said boldly.

“Erickson is your dad?” Red asked. If the girl had half the backbone of her father, and it looked like she did, then it might be worth a shot. The girl nodded and she said, “All right. I need heavy weapons and ammo. Anything you can find. Flamethrower. Rocket launcher, grenades, proximity mines, anything that will make a big boom and kill a lot of these guys at once. Can you do that?”

“I can do that, Lieutenant. I know where they’re kept. As long as the guys didn’t empty out the armory, I’ll find something. If nothing else, I can get more guns in case that one overheats."

“Okay,” Red said and popped up to throw back the group that was beginning to turn her way again. It had gotten bigger. Batarians swarmed through the streets like ants on sugar. If they thought like she did, they’d just start throwing people at the barricades regardless of the wire. All they needed was one good shot. Eventually, they’d get it. She’d seen nothing to make her think they possessed any more mercy than she did. A part of her admired their brutality.

The girl left. Red fired off another volley as one of the turrets went down. She cursed and hoped she’d been paying enough attention when Davis set them up. She tried to walk in a crouch, but her legs had given out and exhaustion made her body feel as if it was made of lead. She crawled instead and heard a clatter behind her. When she looked, Dr. Chakwas was firing Davis’ rifle with a confidence that spoke of experience. The doctor hadn’t spent her entire career in a med bay or a lab.

The doc looked over at her and said, “Shanxi.” Red nodded. It was enough. She let the doctor cover her as she crawled over to the turrets. Her hands fumbled almost as badly as Davis’ had the first time, but she eventually got it in place and activated. Its whir was soothing, comforting, and she let her eyes close. A minute. She just needed a minute. She should have slept the night before instead of wasting her night with a turian who’d ended up being a puppy dog. Batarians had ruined her shore leave. And on her fake birthday, too.


	8. Vice

She groaned and lifted her head. She’d be pissed if she fell asleep on the battlefield and lost. Chakwas was still fighting. Red said, “Shit. How long was I out?”

“Five minutes,” the doctor answered calmly. “I was about to wake you but thought you’d earned the break. They’re holding.”

“I normally wouldn’t ask this,” Red said as she rolled to the side and started to crawl back into position, “but have you got any stims? I’m dead on my feet here.” Stims. Red sand. Videlicet. Coke. Her hands trembled at the thought. She wanted it so badly she could taste it. She thought of the slim metal case she’d carved a space for in the heel of her boot. No. It was there for a reason. She would not give in to it. 

“We’re out, I’m afraid,” the doctor answered.

“Fuck,” Red groaned. “All right. I’ve got this. Go.” She dragged herself up on trembling legs. It took her two tries to lift the rifle. She had to prop it up on the barricade to hold it steady. A nod and the doctor withdrew. Red sent out a weak warp. The flesh around her implant burned. It was going to fry in her head if she pushed it much harder. She started shooting again. Her shoulder felt like it had been kicked by an angry krogan. Repeatedly. Or maybe stepped on by a rampaging elcor. The rifle caught as she was trying to duck down and she was too slow. A round caught her in the other shoulder. _That_ felt like she’d been kicked by a krogan. She fumbled for the medigel and applied it. The salty tang of her own sweat coated her lips when she dragged her tongue across them. “Come on, Red. Don't puss out on me now. Buck the fuck up.”

She thought again about the secret box. She didn’t need all of it. Just a little. Just a bump and she could keep going. She wouldn’t need her amp. She pictured Thane’s brow ridges drawing down in consternation. He would be disappointed. _He isn’t here,_  a voice she hadn’t heard in years whispered. _And you won’t be for much longer, either, if you don’t. What did he always say? Use the tools at your disposal? That’s all it is. A tool. Use it._

A high-pitched whine warned of another incoming rocket. She ducked and covered, but it exploded close enough to her to send a piece of shrapnel flying up into her face where her injured arm hadn’t managed to get high enough to cover it. Her vision went red as blood poured from it. She wiped it away and opened another medigel packet. The wound was small, just below her hairline, but it was bleeding heavily and she couldn’t get a seal with the medigel.

“I leave you alone for five minutes and come back to find you shot and bleeding from the head,” Chakwas said. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Got sloppy,” Red answered. “Find any stims?”

“No,” Chakwas said, “but I did find juice.” She pressed a stack of gauze to her face. It stemmed the blood flow and the doctor applied medigel over the wound.

“Thanks, Doc,” she said. “I’m good now.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Don’t forget to drink.”

 _That wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so out of it,_ the insidious whisper in her mind insisted. _Juice isn’t going to be enough to keep you going. There’s no sign of the Alliance. Use the tools at your disposal, Red. One more time. See what you can do without limits._

Red shook her head to clear it and took a long drink before turning back to the barricade. The doctor retreated into the hospital, leaving Red alone against the horde. The batarians filling the street were backlit by the orange glow of flames where homes had been. The acrid scent of burning building materials sliced into her sinuses. If she was the type to trend toward flights of fancy, she would have had thoughts of hell opening up and disgorging its demons into the streets. But that would have put her in the role of archangel. An assault rifle didn't have the same aesthetic as a flaming sword and her halo would have to be propped up by her horns.

When another rocket exploded close enough to drop her barrier and make her ears ring, she muttered, “Fuck it,” and used the time it took her amp to recharge to pry at her bootheel with her knife. She popped the case out and ran her fingers over the smooth metal as she’d done a thousand times in the years since Thane had saved her from herself. She ignored the thought of his consternation and popped the case open to reveal a small, sealed bag full of red powder. The craving twisted her gut. Her heart pounded in her chest. She opened the bag and carefully tapped out a small pile onto the stock of her rifle. The dust burned her nostril, but the sensation was pure bliss.

She chuckled to herself and leaned her head back against the barricade as warmth seeped through her body. Her biotics reacted to the drug, rippling over her skin. What would her biotics instructor think if he saw her now, snorting red sand off her assault rifle? And who cared? It was exactly what she needed to keep going. She swiftly twisted the bag closed and tucked it back into its case. She'd need more later. A moment later, the case was back in her heel and she was casting a wide-area throw at the aliens running her way. They crashed backward, spraying bodies like a wave encountering rocks at the shore. _Fucking beautiful, Red._

The block of time that followed was a euphoric blur of biotics, gunfire, setting turrets while under fire, and more biotics and gunfire. Even with the sand, though, she could feel herself fading. Her shoulders railed against every movement and tried to lock up on her more than once. Her back felt like a hot knife had stabbed into it and twisted. Her forehead burned. She ignored the pain and continued fighting. When she had a moment between waves, she dumped the rest of the sand onto her rifle. Her amp was on the verge of frying. She needed the boost.

Who the hell was she kidding? Fuck, she'd missed this. This was paradise. Her biotics flowed through her body in time with the racing bass line of her pulse, liquid electricity in her veins. Dark energy stormed through the night, ripping and tearing through the darkness with all the fury of a hurricane. Blue lightning flashed from her palms, casting a surreal hue across the batarians' hide, distorting their already malformed faces. She threw out a warp, imagining that she could feel the molecules ripping apart inside them. This was better than sex. When the batarians split their forces, she fought amidst crossfire, dancing the best way she knew how.

Kelsea returned as the sun was rising, and Red thought she could have could have kissed the girl. Kelsea had brought everything she’d asked for along with solid ration bars, more water, and a packet of electrolytes. “Fuck, yes. That's what I'm talking about,” Red said gratefully as she shrugged on the fuel pack for the flame thrower. “Now, get back inside.”

As soon as the girl had retreated to safety, Red stood and fired the flamethrower into the mass of bodies that had finally reached the wire and decided to brave it. If it hadn’t been for the buildings lining the streets and creating a bottleneck that Davis’ turrets could utilize, she’d have been overrun hours before. They fell back, shrieking as they burned. She lobbed a cluster grenade into the smaller group at her back and grinned. _This_ was the fight she'd been craving.

The fuel pack, rockets, and grenades ran out before the enemies did. They finally got smart and put someone else up in one of the buildings with a rocket launcher. It took out both the generator and her last turret. She fired on the batarian and he went down, but that left her with just an assault rifle, a pistol, and her biotics against a now surging tide of enemies. This was it. She just had to take as many down with her as she could. She’d done her best.

“Chakwas!” she shouted. The door opened behind her and she said, “We’re FUBAR. Lock down the facility.”

Red fired her final rocket and took a moment to look over her shoulder at the doc to make sure she wasn’t going to try to argue. Dr. Chakwas took in the situation with a glance before snapping to attention and saluting her. “It has been an honor, Lieutenant,” she said.

She quickly returned the salute from her sitting position. “Likewise, Doc.”

Chakwas’ face softened and she said, “Give them hell.”

“Aye aye, ma’am.”

They came over the barrier in a wave. The wire held them for a few minutes while she fired off enough throws and warps to blister her scalp from the burning amp and pushed her rifle to its limits. Pain screamed through her head. The rifle gave a final burst and then the bolt shattered and it wouldn’t fire again. The first aliens were coming over the barrier then, so she used it as a bludgeon instead and fired the pistol she’d clipped onto her hip when she was able to break free from the horde for long enough to get a shot off. Then more surged over and she was back to beating them in the face, arms, back, wherever she could reach.

For the first time, she allowed herself to picture little Abby and Gabe hanging from the roof of the porch on Tenth Street to channel the rage that she’d kept under such tight rein for so long. Every crunch of bone and every splash of blood served to feed the beast and make it stronger until a shot caught her in the hip and she faltered long enough for one of the four-eyed freaks to get her in the temple with the butt of his own rifle.

The world went gray. There was an ungodly roaring in her ears as she felt herself fall to the ground. She tried to raise the pistol, but her body had stopped responding. A boot caught her in the nose but the sensation was overwhelmed by all of the other pains vying for her attention. Rushing, roaring, booming sounds rang in her ears. She hadn’t realized that dying would be so  _loud_. “Va…'fanculo,” she gasped out and tried to make her feet lash out as another kicked her in the side. A third caught her in the temple again. Then there was only darkness.

She woke slowly to the beep of machinery and a voice calling her name. “Lieutenant? Shepherd? Breathe. It’s over. Breathe,” the woman said again. Red took in a gasping breath that burned her lungs and made her head spin. She groaned. “That’s it,” the woman said and she identified Dr. Chakwas. “Stay calm. We’ve got you. The Alliance is here. The colony is safe.”

Red groaned again and forced her eyes to open. She was in the hospital. She blinked until her vision cleared and brought a hand up to her face. “How long was I out?” she asked.

“About nine hours,” Chakwas answered. “I had you sedated for a short time while I worked on your injuries and then I let you sleep, but you started holding your breath when you began to wake up.”

“How bad is it, Doc?” she asked.

“In addition to the broken bones and laceration on your face, you suffered gunshot wounds to the shoulder, hip, and back. Fortunately, the one in your back didn’t hit your spine.”

“That’s why it felt like I was being stabbed,” she said. “I thought it was just muscle pain from exhaustion.”

“You also sustained fractures to your ribs and your ankle. You’re black and blue from head to toe,” the doctor added.

“No point in having a pretty corpse,” she said blithely. “So, the roaring in my ears there at the end?”

“The  _Agincourt_  taking down the enemy ships as they came in. They broke off once they realized that the fleet had arrived,” she explained.

“They do know how to make an entrance,” she said. “I thought I was dying.”

“You almost were,” the doctor said. “A few minutes more and you would have. I’ll admit, I was certain I was telling you goodbye for the final time when you sent me away.”

Red said, “I thought so, too. Glad it didn’t work out that way. I’ll fight beside you any day, Doc. You’re a hell of a soldier.”

 

A month later, Red stood in front of a crowd of people in Illyria as the Prime Minister, governor, mayor, and several Alliance brass made speeches about her courage and dedication. They called her a hero and cheered her name. She wondered darkly if they’d still be cheering if they knew she’d been high as a fucking kite there at the end or that a stolen Hallex was the only thing keeping her from walking away now. Admiral Hackett pinned the massive Star of Terra to her dress blues and it was all she could do to keep a straight face. It was a piece of tin. They could hail her a hero all they wanted. She knew the truth. The Hero of the Skyllian Blitz was going to fucking rehab.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this was supposed to have one more chapter in Red's life before a couple of people come in and turn her life upside down, but a certain biotic decided he needed his own installment. So...TO BE CONTINUED.


End file.
